Tempest (26 page)

Twenty-five

Family Ties

B
y some miracle, the earthquake hadn’t knocked down our porch swing. After delivering a semiconscious Aaron into Dr. Kinsey’s capable hands, I went back outside to sit, wait for the others to arrive, and try to process everything that had just happened. Not just the intense fight at HQ and Tricia Rice’s death, but our Manhattan volunteers, the earthquake and its aftermath, the war zone that was our house. Our sanctuary had once again been torn apart by our enemies.

The only three rooms Dr. Kinsey had declared safe for use were the foyer, the formal living room to the left of it, and the War Room (our one lucky break, considering all our computers and information were kept there). He’d moved his medical supplies into the living room, swept up what debris and broken glass he could, and declared the upstairs floors too unstable for exploration—all while monitoring the news channels and our com frequencies.

The few possessions I’d had were now part of the rubble in the kitchen. I was lucky I hadn’t been at home asleep, or I’d have been part of the wreckage, too.

I must have lain down on the porch swing and fallen asleep without realizing, because my wandering thoughts turned to dreams of Andrew being held captive by a giant cartoonish tree, and then it must have started raining, because my face was wet. Something cold stung my chin and I jerked away from it—which made me bang my forehead on the back of the wooden swing and woke me up completely.

Andrew stood next to the swing holding a first aid kit and a red-stained white cloth that smelled like a hospital. “Dr. Kinsey said your cuts should be cleaned,” he said in that way kids have of making simple things sound grave and complex.

“The cuts—oh.” That’s right, I’d said hello to the floor with my face earlier. “Thank you.”

I tilted my head toward him. Andrew dabbed at the dried blood on my chin and forehead like a seasoned trauma nurse rather than an eight-year-old. Looking at him, all intent and serious, was like staring into a time machine at myself twenty years ago. As much as I hated to break his concentration, I had to know something. “Where’s your dad?”

“Around back with Denny, I think. They’re looking at the hole in your house.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Daddy said you saved us because you’re a hero and that’s what heroes do.” He recited the words but sounded uncertain about some part of it.

“He’s right, Andrew. Some very bad people took you and that was wrong.”

“So you took me back.”

“Exactly.”

He bit his lower lip and gazed at the ground. “Ethan, if they were bad people, why did they make me better? Even the hospital people couldn’t do that.”

Talk about a tough question. The easiest answer was that they healed Andrew so they could better exploit his power. Another possibility was that they’d look better if they helped a kid who’d been hurt in an explosion they caused—I just couldn’t really see the clones caring much for their public image. So I settled on the best answer I had for Andrew. “I don’t know, buddy. They did make you better, but it’s still wrong to kidnap people. They shouldn’t have done that, and that’s why I got you back safe and sound.”

He nodded gravely. “Do you think I can be a hero like you when I grow up?”

I hauled my tired body into a sitting position, then patted the swing next to me. Once Andrew was seated, I said, “I think you can be anything you want to be when you grow up, especially a hero.”

“Good.” He frowned. “Ethan?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You have red hair and green eyes just like me and Daddy.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, I do. Do you know why?”

“Uh-uh.”

I hunched down so we were at eye level. “Because a long, long time ago your daddy loved my mother, but he had to leave before he knew she was going to have a baby. That scary day at the castle was the first time your dad and I ever met.”

Andrew’s eyes widened and his lips formed a perfect O. “Really? He’s your daddy, too? That means we’re brothers?”

Love for that little boy hit me square in the heart, and I grinned. “Yep, we’re brothers.”

“Super! I’ve always wanted a brother.”

“Me too.”

He launched himself at me. I hid a flinch at his vise-like hug and hugged him back. I hadn’t gone to New York a week ago looking to find a brother, but I had one now, and I’d do anything to keep him safe.

The front door swung open and Dr. Kinsey stepped outside. He was smiling, which calmed any apprehension I might have had about Aaron’s condition. “Trance called a little while ago,” he said. “I tried to wake you for a full minute before I gave up and took a message.”

Damn. I guess I’d needed that nap. “What did she say?”

“She said great job following your instincts and finding the McTaggerts. She also said that one of the Manhattan prison guards is on his way over here to keep an eye on Freddy McTaggert until he can be transported back to New York.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Why can’t we stay here with you?” Andrew asked.

I didn’t know how to explain to Andrew that his father was still considered a federal prisoner, and that sooner or later, he had to go back to his island prison. But what about Andrew? Now that the boy was here would Warden Hudson insist he remain apart from his father? What would Andrew want? Or Freddy?

“I don’t know if that will be okay,” I said. “I don’t get to make that decision.”

“Oh.”

“But no matter what, we’ll spend some time together today, okay?”

“Okay.”

To Dr. Kinsey, I asked, “Did Teresa say anything else?”

He glanced down at Andrew before answering. “Just to spend some time with your family, and that she’ll see you in the field tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“Certainly.”

“How’s Aaron doing?”

“He’s resting. The object that stabbed him missed his vital organs, so, barring any infections, he’ll recover just fine.”

Thank God.

Doing my duty while someone I cared about was hurt and bleeding was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Aaron could have just as easily lacerated his liver and bled to death before anyone could help him. The what-if was terrifying, but the worst had not happened. I now had a better understanding of the things Teresa faced, not only as our leader, but also as a woman in love with one of her teammates. Even when Gage was down, condition unknown, she’d fought the Recombinant clones with everything she had in her.

“Ethan?”

Crap, Dr. Kinsey had been talking. “Huh?”

“I said Aaron was asking for you.”

I started to stand and forgot about the child-anchor around my waist, who seemed determined to stay firmly attached.

“Hey, Andrew,” Dr. Kinsey said, squatting down to eye level with the kid, “how would you like to come with me and see what your father and Denny are up to in the backyard?”

Andrew twisted his head to look at me, as if asking for my permission. “Go for it,” I said. “I need to see my friend.”

Friend. The word didn’t seem big enough for what Aaron was to me now, but I was way too tired to properly navigate the conversations that “boyfriend” (not yet declared) or “lover” (better, but very loaded) would inspire from a curious eight-year-old.

Then again, some things just didn’t need labels.

Andrew slid off the porch swing and took the hand that Dr. Kinsey offered. They walked off together. Despite the fact that he’d lived his entire life in Manhattan and that he’d nearly died four days ago, Andrew didn’t seen at all nervous in a new, unfamiliar environment. He seemed to have no fear of the outside world, and I truly hoped he never would.

The formal living room was mostly for entertaining visitors—so you can imagine it didn’t see a lot of use. Now it was crammed full of boxes and containers of supplies, and the blue chenille sofa Teresa had picked out supported the patient I’d come to see. No longer hiding in plain sight behind Scott’s mask, Aaron smiled at me from the far end of the couch. His color was better and he seemed alert.

“Hey,” I said. There wasn’t much room on the couch, but he shifted over a little so I could sit on the edge. He held out his hand, and I wrapped mine around his, twining our fingers and squeezing tight. There it was—that spark of heat between us when we touched. The sense of being totally alive and part of something wonderful. I hadn’t lost that. Or him.

“I think I need to practice my skills at shooting moving targets,” Aaron said. “Wasted every one of those darts.”

“We’ll have to have Renee give you lessons.”

“Renee?”

“Yep. Believe it or not, she’s a crack shot.”

“Huh.” He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Any hidden talents of yours I should know about?”

“Well, I have a peculiar talent for attracting personal injuries and causing explosions.”

He laughed, then winced. “I’m going to have to break you of that bad habit.”

“Says the man who was stabbed in the back?”

“Look in the mirror, pal. You have more purple on your face than Trance.”

With my free hand, I touched a tender spot on my chin. “Point taken.”

His gaze went distant for a moment, and then he looked at me intently. “Ethan, where do we go from here?”

I glanced around the room, taking in the various cracks in the walls and ceiling. “I’d say a hotel, but the local ones are probably in worse shape than the house.”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant with us.”

“I know.” A flip answer wasn’t what he’d wanted or deserved. Not after all of this. “Honestly? I have no idea. I don’t know if I can really think further ahead than four hours from now, not with everything so uncertain.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, Hill House is a mess. Los Angeles is a federal disaster area. Who knows what the government will decide about our involvement in the earthquake, plus there’s the whole clone thing we still haven’t dealt with. About the only thing I do know for sure is that Andrew is safe, I’m hungry as hell, and as bizarre as our journey’s been, you are the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”

Aaron’s entire face went soft, even as his grip on my hand tightened. “Ditto you for me. So.”

“So?”

“You ready to face life as the gay son of a supervillain?”

I snickered. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. And yes, I am. No more shameful secrets.” Not about anything. Not anymore.

“And no more blaming yourself for the deaths of people you couldn’t have saved?”

Damn. “Can I get back to you on that one?”

“Ethan—”

“Kidding. I’ll work on it, I promise. If you promise to do the same and stop blaming yourself for Jimmy.”

He hesitated. “I guess we both have things to work on, don’t we?”

“Yeah, we do.”

“Good thing you’ll be here to keep me in line.”

I grinned. “Ditto.”

If we talked about other things that afternoon, I don’t remember them. All I do recall is sitting with him after those last few words, feeling the weight of how my life had changed. And feeling the intensity of the freedom that those changes had wrought. My unexpected journey into self-discovery and acceptance wasn’t quite over yet. But I wouldn’t change a second of it.

Not a single second.

Recovery Efforts

F
reddy McTaggert and I never had the “come to Jesus” father-son moment you might have been expecting. Too many years and too much hurt existed between us to bridge that gap in any meaningful way, but I don’t regret meeting him. The best thing to come out of our getting to know each other was Andrew. I doted on my little brother every possible moment until he had to board the plane to go back east.

Because he was still a federal prisoner, McTaggert had to return to Manhattan Island, and the transport was arranged for Wednesday afternoon, two days (and three devastating aftershocks) after their rescue from the Recombinants. Even though McTaggert requested permission to assist in the earthquake recovery efforts, Hudson denied it, and McTaggert spent the time under guard at Hill House.

After Shannon Milton from Channel Four got wind of our antics at HQ and linked that back to Hackensack, Andrew McTaggert’s fate became a hotly debated topic in the media—as well as the fate of every other child in Manhattan. The fact that the imprisoned Metas had small children was a bad secret that had just been blown wide open and given a face. Andrew’s face. Some people wanted the kids removed from the prison for their own good; others called for all Metas to be rounded up and added to the collection.

Warden Hudson went on national television about an hour before McTaggert’s plane was due to take off and made two announcements. Most of the team was out in the field, but Aaron and I were hanging around the Burbank airport—which had the only local, intact runway—with Freddy, Andrew, and four armed guards, when the announcements were made.

We heard them over one of the guard’s radios. “I’ll keep this brief,” Hudson said in his usual gruff tone. “First, I have recommended and the president has agreed to grant pardons to the fourteen Meta prisoners who have been helping with the rescue and relief efforts in Los Angeles, California. Once the paperwork is complete, they will not be required to return to Manhattan. They will be free to live their lives.”

Aaron, who was sitting next to me on an uncomfortable plastic bench, nudged my shoulder and grinned. This was what we’d hoped for—the start of forgiveness for the Metas living in Manhattan. Fourteen down.

“Second, there is the matter of the children living in Manhattan. At this time, I am not willing to forcibly separate any child from his or her natural parents. The prisoners have established a healthy, well-run community, and their children are thriving. However, if any child wishes to leave the island, I will not prevent that from happening. I will not be taking questions at this time.”

On the bench across from us, Andrew gave his father a wide, sunny smile. “We get to stay together?” he asked.

“No, buddy,” McTaggert said sadly. “Remember what we talked about? You’re going to be living with Simon and Caleb Hewitt for a while. You’ll have a room of your own, and a tutor so you can learn things and get to be as smart as your big brother Ethan.”

Andrew chewed on his lower lip. Simon had agreed to take Andrew in for the time being, rather than have him return to the prison. As much as I disliked Andrew’s being separated from his father, it was the best decision for now. My own home was too much of a wreck for a child. But I’d already made plans to fly out next week to visit them both.

And maybe with Alexia Lowe on the cusp of receiving a federal pardon, Muriel would follow her mother to freedom—freedom that came with personal risks. Even though another dozen or so young Metas had come forward to help since the earthquake, and even though authorities openly admitted our assistance had saved thousands of lives, a large portion of the general population still didn’t trust us. No one officially blamed Metas for the earthquake, and even Humankind has shut up about that lately, but sometimes I look at a stranger and see the fear in their eyes.

Some things just never changed.

One of the guards came over and said the plane was ready. Andrew hugged me for a long time. I hated letting him go when I’d just found him. “We’ll see each other soon,” I said. I ruffled his hair. “Promise.”

“Good.” Andrew’s eyes were shiny and wet when he pulled away and gave Aaron a quick hug.

I shook McTaggert’s hand—something I’d never imagined I would do. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“I will,” I replied.

To Aaron, McTaggert said, “See that he does?”

Aaron nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

McTaggert took Andrew’s hand, and the pair turned to follow the quartet of prison guards out to the waiting plane. Aaron and I stayed behind in the hangar, where a handful of Guardsmen were waiting until the next supply shipment arrived. We stood there, together, until a small jet took to the sky, heading east with my family.

Part of it, anyway.

“I suppose we should get back to work,” Aaron said. “Teresa said this morning’s aftershock trapped—”

My com buzzed in my pocket—a signal from Teresa. “Speak of the devil,” I said. I stuck the earpiece in. “This is Tempest, go ahead.”

I didn’t like the tremor in her voice. “What’s going on?”

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached for Aaron, and he took my hand without question. “Which means what?” I asked Teresa.

She made a choked sound.