I chewed my lip and shuffled on my feet.
I stood on Quinn's front porch, taking in his baroque-like house. It was as massive and lavish as I remembered. It was five stories tall, spanned impossibly long, and was adorned with intricately carved gargoyles perched on the edges of the roof. The setting sun colored the sky with deep orange and yellow hues; the unblemished glass window panes reflected the horizon, and I wondered if Quinn was even home. I knew he liked to party and drink all hours of the night.
I hesitantly pressed the doorbell before I could change my mind. When Proditio and I discussed dismantling the Traders, she said her plan would take approximately one year to complete. If I couldn't return for a year-Proditio suggested that after embarking on this goal, I couldn't return home (she didn't give a reason)-I at least wanted to ask Quinn a crucial question.
A moment of waiting awkwardly passed and I instantly regretted my decision. Next week we were going to start our efforts to wipe out the Trader's New York operation: I had to ask Quinn something, but I could get the information somewhere else. I began to turn on my heels when the door swung open, and a man in a prim suit loomed in the doorway.
His eyes brightened when he saw me. "Henry!" Kyle exclaimed.
I tried to smile. "Hey Kyle. Been a while."
Kyle was Quinn's personal butler, so we got to know each other pretty well. He didn't usually answer doors, though.
"Uh, I was just about to leave, so-"
"Kyle! Who's at the door?" Quinn called from somewhere within the house, his cheerful voice bouncing off the walls.
My stomach sunk as Kyle called back, "It's Henry!" dropping his formal tone and relaxing. Around the two of us, he didn't have to act so uptight.
Quinn responded with shocked silence. It took a minute for him to say, "Let him in," followed by footsteps.
Kyle held the door out expectantly, and I cursed myself for being so stupid. Why did I come back here? So stupid! I thought, scolding myself. Dammit, didn't you act like a douche to him so he wouldn't see you anymore?
But at least now I could ask Quinn what'd been nagging the back of my mind.
My feet carried me inside despite my mind screeching in protest, and Kyle shut the door behind us. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. I'm going to bully one of the chefs to give me some of those little cucumber sandwiches," he said to Quinn, who hopped off the last step of a superlative staircase that led to where he'd been on the second floor.
Quinn nodded and Kyle happily meandered towards the kitchens.
Once he was out of earshot, Quinn scowled. "What happened to wanting to escape everything and everyone in New York?"
The biting scorn in his voice, the belligerent clenching of his fists, and livid tinge to his normally ebullient blue eyes was completely unlike himself.
I'd really pissed him off.
I silently congratulated myself. Congratulations, Henry! You managed to push away everyone you cared about. Nice going.
But a small part of me couldn't help but feel... relieved. By pushing him away, he was safe from me. From the misery that seemed to befall everyone in my life. From the misery that consumed Rebecca.
I combed back my hair with one hand, and shoved my burned one into my pocket. I winced, but said, "I needed to ask you something."
Quinn narrowed his brows. "So after you set that hotel on fire and killed someone and told me off, you're here to cash in a favor?"
A small part of me registered shock.
But...
The other part of me figured he'd find out, especially after the news reported the abnormal properties of the fire. Once Quinn discovered that the fire could've only been caused by an ability and I just so happened to be there, it was easy to put two and two together.
Keep calm, I thought. I'd gotten a lot better at controlling my facial expressions and keeping, or attempting to keep, my apprehension and anxieties at bay. So, with an emotionless, controlled voice, muscles tensed, I said, "I was hoping you wouldn't figure it out."
He smirked and crossed his arms. "Not as stupid as you think I am."
I never thought you were stupid, I wanted to say. A little oblivious sometimes, but never stupid.
But I didn't say it. I opted for something else. "Why haven't you turned me in yet? You do know that the cops are looking for the culprit, right?"
Quinn faltered at this.
As he pondered his answer, he tapped his foot, then sighed. "As much of a jackass you are, I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself." He laughed bitterly and leaned against the stair's glossy oak banister. "Kinda wanted you to deny it, to be honest."
What good would denying it do? Doubt of my innocence would linger in Quinn's mind, gnawing away at him regardless of what I said. This way, we could talk directly, without any reservations.
I raked back my hair slowly. "I'm not gonna deny it. I did it. And I don't have a good reason, either. It's unjustifiable." Technically, I hadn't set fire to the hotel- that was thanks to Kaz. But I was involved, and I didn't want to implicate anyone else. Better the blame fell to me; it wasn't like I cared either way.
For a split second, I thought I saw Quinn bit his lip and gaze at the floor in reticent lamentation. But it happened so fast I was convinced I imagined it. "Henry..." He sighed.
He seemed at a loss for words.
I leaned against the door, forcing my hand to fall to my side.
The silence was palpable.
Ringing filled my ears, until Kyle strolled by with a tray laden with tiny cucumber sandwiches. He munched on one of them, contented, but paused when he saw the two of us ruminating silently.
"Wow," he muttered.
Quinn hadn't noticed him and nearly leapt out of his skin. "What?"
Kyle unhinged his jaw and shoved a handful of sandwiches in his mouth. They crunched with his loud chewing.
"With all that brooding you two could be straight out of Twilight," he said, chuckling. He plopped another sandwich into his mouth, still chortling. "Might want to take off your shirts, make sure you don't sparkle."
Quinn let out a long sigh. "Maybe later."
Kyle lifted a brow, amused. "Whatever, Kristin Stewart." He began to saunter away when he called over his shoulder, "Nice seeing you again, Edward."
Quinn gasped audibly. "Kyle! Why do I have to be Kristin and he gets to be Edward?"
Kyle laughed, voice becoming more distant, but we could just barely make out, "Because Henry doesn't have perpetual PMS."
An involuntary smile tugged at my lips and Quinn scoffed. He mumbled to himself, "Last I checked I was a guy."
A response tumbled out of my lips before I could think to stop myself. "Can you speak louder Bella? I don't think I caught that."
He fumed. "Oh shut up. If any one of us has PMS it's you."
I smirked. "You sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm sure," he said.
"Really sure?"
"Should I show you just how sure I am?"
His hands gravitated towards his belt and I scrambled to say, "Jesus, fine. You're a guy."
Suddenly I found myself grinning like a fool, and so did Quinn. His stupid humor always found a way to amuse me. It almost felt... normal.
Almost.
My smile faded and somberness retook the atmosphere. Quinn rubbed his chin in thought before he blurted, "Stop whatever it is you're doing."
"Huh?"
His stance was solid and his voice was firm. "Whatever you're doing, stop doing it. I don't like it- whatever it is." My apparent confusion spurred him on. "Ever since Rebecca died, you haven't been the same. And what you did when you left- burning down that hotel... I don't think you meant to kill that guy," he murmured. "So just come home. Coming home will make you feel better. Make you go back to your normal self. The sarcastic, Debby Downer Henry that I know."
He wants me to come back, I thought, astonished. Even after I treated him like crap.
But I couldn't come back. Not now.
Not when Proditio offered me the chance to revive Rebecca. I knew, without a doubt, she and Hui could bring her back.
A condition of Hui's power was that Rebecca's body had to be preserved: Proditio claimed that she safeguarded Rebecca's body and was utilizing one of her 'product's' abilities to keep it viable for resurrection.
If only Quinn would answer my question...
"Did you see Rebecca's body at the funeral?"
Quinn stopped.
"What?" he asked.
"Did you see her body at the funeral?" I persisted. If no one ever saw her body, it was possible Proditio really did have her and really could bring her back.
I wasn't sure why, maybe my desperation leaked through or was slapped blatantly on my face, but Quinn warily said, eyeing me up and down, "No. It was closed casket."
Closed casket...
"Why? Why was it closed casket?" I asked, voice hitched.
He furrowed his brows. "Because her body was too damaged for open casket."
Too damaged?
No... No, it wasn't. I saw her body. It wasn't too damaged. Not one bit. It could've been open casket.
So Proditio really...
She must've taken her body before the funeral. If it was closed casket, no one would've seen the body. And she could've paid people off to silence them if they noticed anything off about the whole thing.
Rebecca... could really be brought back. I could see her again. I could talk to her again.
I can bring her back.
Quinn gave a frustrated sigh. "What's up with you, man? Why're you acting so weird?" He crossed the distance between us. Barely shorter than me, he tilted his head ever so slightly to lock eyes with me. "You high?" he deadpanned.
Still reeling, I tried to regain my wits about me.
"No..." I trailed off.
It truly hit me right then and there. For the first time in what felt like forever, I even felt a spark of what semi-resembled hope.
I was giddy. My body surged with newfound energy, and I had to fight the urge to grin like an idiot. My heart drummed loudly in my ears and I couldn't contain myself. "I have to go," I said hurriedly.
I began to back away for the exit, but Quinn snapped, "That's it? You show up, admit to arson, ramble like an idiot about caskets, and leave?"
That's what it looked like to him.
To me, it was the best news I'd heard in my life. "I have to go," I repeated, this time with more urgency. I had to go do whatever it took to bring her back. "I'm sorry," I added.
This time, I reached for the handle; the metal was cool to the touch and tickled my fingers, and I began to turn it, when Quinn said, "I'm becoming a hero, you know."
That made me pause.
What?
Quinn? A hero?
He didn't have any powers, though.
A shadow danced in the corner of my vision. Was I imagining it?
I blinked.
The shadow, cast by the sun and belonging to an ornate chair pushed off to the side, stretched, elongated, and slithered towards me. I glanced at Quinn.
He had inched to the foot of the stairs, but his arm was outstretched. His face was scrunched in concentration.
The shadow crawled up the wall; the tip of the black, caliginous coil of shadow stopped by the window, peeled itself off the wall, taped the glass twice, and retreated back to its original form.
Quinn relaxed his facial features and let out a long sigh through clenched teeth. When he opened his eyes, he scowled. "Didn't know I had an ability, right? Well, I got it after Rebecca died and I'm going to use it to become a hero."
"After Rebecca died?" I asked, astonished. Why didn't he mention this to me?
"Yeah," he said, bitter. "I can move shadows and make them do things. I can use shadows that the sun creates."
The SS's research came to mind in that moment. He could control shadows, and the ability presented itself right after Rebecca's death... What could that mean?
Quinn... When I saw him at the hotel, he could-
"When I start become a hero after I graduate," he said, halting my thoughts, "I'm going to do it to go after the Traders. For Rebecca. But Henry, I'm going to become a hero with a clear conscience. You killed someone. I'm not gonna become a hero knowing that I abetted you in whatever it is you're doing. Unless you stay. If you stay and stop this I won't turn you in. I promise. I just want you to stop." He sucked in a deep breath, combed back his golden hair, and bit his lip, expectant.
"I-I-" He wanted to turn me in? "I can't, Quinn," I said. I had to help Rebecca. I had to.
"Why can't you?" He softened his hard tone, coaxing me into a response. A response that couldn't have veracity. If he was going to turn me in, I couldn't be honest. Not that I'd been honest to him anyway.
I equivocated, "I have things I have to do, Quinn. You can turn me if you want."
Frustrated, he gripped the banister. "What's so important that's worth doing bad things for?"
"Rebecca."
Both of us had loved Rebecca. In different ways, but we loved her nonetheless.
She was our motivation.
Quinn didn't say another word, and I left his house.
The sun had nearly set. Only a mere, golden sliver of it peeked over the darkened horizon.
Quinn was going to turn me in. So be it. I guessed Proditio had predicted that anyway- she said I wouldn't be able to return home.
All that mattered was Rebecca. She could be brought back.
All I had to do was eliminate the Traders. And luckily, Proditio was going to help us.
She said Wais, Miranda, Parker, Kaz, Zoe, and I, aggregated by our tragedies, could stamp them out faster than anyone else- police or heroes. We could ruin them in one year.
And in one year, when every last Trader scum was dead, I'd see Rebecca again. Rebecca, the only girl I'd ever cared about. The only girl who'd ever cared about me.
Just one year.