Page 72 of The Not So Super Hero

“Y ou suggested Zane get in contact with Marceline?” Chris asked, mildly slack-jawed and equally smirking.

Zane left earlier in a foul mood, leaving Chris and Bailey alone.

This has been happening since Bailey proposed his plan.

Zane left any chance he got, returned to check on Bailey, then disappeared.

Bed rest would last a couple more days, then Bailey would leave.

On crutches, but that was far better than the hospital.

The aroma of cleaning supplies had grown unappealing real fast, plus the food was horrendous.

Chris occasionally spared them by bringing food.

“That’s impressive,” Chris snickered from Bailey’s bedside.

“You could help, right? You’re a detective, and she worked for Antoine. Do you have anything about her on file?” he countered.

“We do, actually.”

Bailey’s heart pumped faster than raging rapids. “Really?”

Chris nodded, crossing his arms. He scratched at his scalp while avoiding all eye contact. “We know where she lives, could easily get in touch with her if Zane wanted.”

Bailey’s jaw dropped. If Chris had known, why hadn’t he said anything? Why didn’t he mention anything to Zane? Wouldn’t it have been a good idea? Marceline was someone dear to Zane. Still was. Talking to someone from his past, someone he needed to speak to, it would have helped in so many ways.

Before he asked, Chris sighed. His brow furrowed, squirming a moment prior to explaining, “I always thought about bringing it up, but Zane, when I brought him home, he—Bailey, it was bad. He was bad. I always worried if I even suggested it, that he would finally snap and I couldn’t risk it.”

“No, I understand. He didn’t like me bringing it up now, so I’m sure just a few months ago he would have sooner ripped his own hair out than even considered it.” Bailey sent Chris a reassuring smile. As irresistible as always.

“I’ll try to talk him into it,” Chris said, patting Bailey’s uninjured leg. “He won’t be able to stand against Antoine if he doesn’t.”

Bailey agreed. Although it hurt being incapable of more, he was happy that Chris was around. If speaking with Marceline helped Zane move on, then it needed to be done. Chris left shortly afterwards to find Zane. They worked on a limited schedule, so their best bet was to get Zane to cave.

He wasn’t far. Zane never wandered far from Bailey, even in the middle of a sort-of fight.

Chris rolled his eyes, then sat beside Zane on the chairs lining the hospital halls.

A silence fell over them. The natural hustle and bustle of the hospital grew dim.

Zane sat, arms crossed and head low. His hair grazed his cheeks, keeping his eyes from view.

“Bailey’s right, you know,” Chris said, breaking the silence. “Speaking with Marceline, it’s the right thing to do.”

Zane tasted blood after biting his cheek. His nails pressed crescent shapes into his arms.

“I know the idea of it scares you. We have no idea what she’ll say,” Chris added.

“Or if she’ll even talk to me,” He interrupted, barely more than a hiss between his clenched teeth. “For all we know, Antoine could have been telling the truth. She may want nothing to do with me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Please, even if it was a lie, why would she want to speak with me?” he growled, his voice rising with each word until he was actually shouting. A nurse cast a warning look from her desk. Zane lowered his voice, though nothing smothered the heat of his eyes.

“She finally got away from Antoine. From me. From all this drama. How would she feel if I suddenly popped back into her life? She would be scared out of her wits,” Zane argued, waving an arm through the air as if it prevented him from raising his voice.

“I can’t. There’s no way. I can’t contact her even if we had a way. ”

“We do have a way,” Chris said, pressing his hand to Zane’s shoulder. His tone brought a confused expression to Zane’s face that morphed into horror. “We know where she is. I can get a hold of her. Give me a few minutes and we could have her on the phone.”

“That...were you listening?” Zane whispered, body shivering. The room swayed. He became short of breath, gasping, lungs abruptly constricted by an invisible force.

Zane waved a dismissive hand. “There is no way she wants to speak with me. I can’t. We can’t. No way.”

“Let us call her and find out. If she says yes, I’ll hand you the phone. If she doesn’t, then you won’t even have to hear her voice.”

“I’ll still know. If you don’t hand me the—”

“Zane,” Chris interrupted. His grip tightened against his son’s shoulder. Zane flinched, though it was entirely because of his own berating thoughts than Chris’ stern stare.

Yes, Zane knew Bailey was right. Chris was right.

Deep down, the answer had always been there.

Face the past, beat Antoine. But that had always been too daunting, and he preferred pretending Antoine and Rebirth would never return.

Now, though, he had to beat Antoine for more than himself. For Bailey. For both of them.

Although he did not know what he would say to Marceline, something had to be said. Maybe if he heard Marceline’s voice, everything would just work out? It was hopeful thinking, but at that point all he had was hope.

Agonizing minutes past that felt like hours, a piercing silence capable of freezing the ocean.

Zane rolled the idea over in his head. Fear lingered, a biting sensation at the base of his gut like a monster eating away from within.

Dark and sharp claws ripping at his very soul.

What would he do if Marceline truly wanted nothing to do with him?

And that made him conjure a list of reasons they shouldn’t call.

“What if she’s busy? She could be at work,” he muttered.

“She’s a stay at home mom.”

She was a mother? If she stayed at home, is she possibly married? All the normal things that normal people do in their normal lives, Marceline was doing them. Was she happy? Zane hoped she was, hoped she was the happiest she had ever been.

“She’s married to a banker. They have a beautiful home in Arizona with two little girls. Anything other than that, I think you should ask her yourself,” Chris added.

“You know all that? Stalker.”

Chris rolled his eyes at Zane’s attempt at humor to make himself feel better. Even if Zane understood why they knew as much as they did, Chris sighed and explained, “We were worried Antoine would go after her. It was better to at least keep them on our radar.”

Zane let his head hit the wall. Staring at the ceiling didn’t help conjure more excuses. He couldn’t avoid the inevitable. Rather, he couldn’t continue avoiding the inevitable. This had to end so he and Bailey could go on boring dates and argue over who had the worst bathroom routine.

With a trembling sigh, he caved. “Call her.”

Nodding, Chris stepped to the end of the hall, where he made a few calls.

Zane shivered like he had been dropped in the middle of a winter storm wearing swimming trunks.

He wrung his hands in his lap. Sweat formed on his palm.

The world flipped in his vision. He had to gaze at the floor, counting the specks in the tile to block out the noise and Chris’ voice.

“She’s on hold.” Chris presented the phone to Zane. He couldn’t take it, hands stiff and brain numb. “She wants to speak with you,” Chris added.

His words were a smack to the face, yet everything Zane ever hoped for. Zane caught Chris’ comforting gaze. The one that said Marceline really was on the line. She wanted to talk to him. She was waiting, and he had no damn idea what to do.

“What do I say?” he whispered.

“Whatever you want.” Chris reached for Zane’s hand to place his phone there. “Talk about the weather if you have to. I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear your voice.”

With that, Chris walked away, leaving Zane with an option to talk or hang up.

If he hung up, he would feel like the world’s biggest jackass.

At the same time, he was too scared to answer.

His gut screamed that the moment Marceline spoke, she would spew curse words at him.

All these fears of what could happen bubbled inside his stomach, urging the need to vomit.

It was terrifying and, when he finally took Marceline off hold, all his throat squeaked was, “Hello.”

A gasp echoed over the line, followed by soft sniffles and hiccups. Then Marceline’s soft voice filtered through the phone, easing Zane into a pile of emotional slush. “Zane, is, oh God, is it really you?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, Sweetie. Hi, I—oh no, I wasn’t sure if—if I should believe them but.

..but, oh my god, I don’t know what to say.

” Her cries grew louder, making Zane’s chest tightened with a need to follow suit, to break apart right there.

He wasn’t sure why. Was it relief? Was it joy?

All he knew was that tears built in his eyes.

“Neither do I,” he replied, sighing, then chuckling.

“Your voice, oh wow, you’ve grown up so much. I don’t even need to see you to know.” Marceline giggled, a mixture of cheer and sorrow. “When they called, I couldn’t even believe it. I thought—I thought you were dead.”

Marceline broke into a fit of tears that twisted his stomach.

He didn’t know that, although that was a believable thing to believe.

Antoine wanted everyone to think he was dead.

No one would look that way. The tension morphed into guilt.

Had he been selfish? To put her in a place where she believed he was dead.

How did she feel after waking up? What did she go through thinking he was gone?

He couldn’t even imagine it and he wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t get it out.