“Oh god. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Kyle needs to be with his family, and here he is worrying about me.
“Do you want to see him or not?”
I do. “Yes. Yes. I want to see him.” I’ll never believe he’s gone if I don’t.
A week later, I’m standing at the back of the church in my old hometown, staring at a giant photo of Huff’s sweet face. The photo next to the casket is from before that night, when his face was thinner. It’s the same smile I’ve known since we were in the second grade.
What gets me is how many people have shown up. Strangers. Acquaintances. His family and mine. The parking lot is packed with news vans and creepy assholes who just want to get a look at the faces of those who loved the world’s first human being with abilities only seen in the movies.
They call him Mr. Ultra Mega Love now, and it makes me want to cry and laugh hysterically every time I hear it. It’s so corny. Why did I say that to those reporters? I know it was the heat of the moment, but this isn’t how I want him remembered. It sounds like a name belonging to one of those dumb cartoons Huff loved so much. What I hate most is that it makes him sound like he wasn’t real. A real guy. A real person. The man I loved. Now he’s been reduced to wild debates and conspiracy theories on the internet.
Everyone has an opinion about the drug and where it really came from. Super-soldier potion developed by the military. Extraterrestrial-DNA-infused serum. They call the forty people who are hooked on the stuff “crazy.” Others call them junkies. Some have genuine sympathy for my sisters who were given nearly toxic doses of the drug without knowing. They started crashing almost immediately, which was why they all got sick.
Keni is evil. She did it to teach them a lesson. And then control them.
All I can say is it’s too much. And I don’t have my best friend by my side to help me cope.
Yes, he’s dead.
I saw the body. Kyle held my hand the entire time. Huff looked so peaceful and handsome. But the life was gone from his face.
After that, my parents showed up and took me home. Our sorority house was flooded on the first floor, and it’ll be months before we can all move back in. If I move back at all.
I know Huff would want me to muscle through all this, but how can I? People stare everywhere I go. Reporters follow me all hours of the day, begging for interviews.
Huff’s stupid roommate, Ronno, was offered six figures for some lame book, My Roommate, the Secret Superhero.
Seriously, Ronno? You knew him, like, what? Two days? Idiot.
But I don’t have the energy to get angry anymore. My life as I once knew it is gone and replaced with a heart that doesn’t work anymore.
I wipe away a tear from my raw cheek as Kyle goes up to the podium to talk about his brother. I can’t watch. I can’t be here.
I don’t want closure.
I just want Huff back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Huff
It’s been seven months since I died. Yes, and survived. My brother, Kyle, is such a stubborn dick. And probably the best brother a guy could ask for.
I don’t know how he pulled it off, but he made sure I was given a dose of that crap to keep me alive. Then everything happened so fast. He said he’d made arrangements to get me out of there. Of course, I didn’t want to leave. Not without River, but he laid it out for me.
“If you love her, Huff, you’re going to have to let her go. Think about why you refused to take the drug. You’re afraid what you might do to her. And even if that weren’t a problem, what kind of future will she have with you? Someone’s going to take you, and you’ll be dissected like a lab rat. If not by our government, then I can think of ten other countries that’ll want to figure out how a scrawny kid turned into a two-hundred-pound gorilla with the strength of a hundred men. This is the only way to give her a shot at a normal life. A happy life.”
I couldn’t argue with him. Not when everything he said was true. There was no hope for me to give River a happy life, one she deserves. This way was the only way. So I played dead, and Kyle got me out.
Only my parents and he know I’m still alive, and it’s going to stay that way. I’d do anything for River. Anything.
I look out across the calm turquoise waters of Bacalar, Mexico. It’s a secluded lake by the ocean near Belize. It’s quiet. Not a lot of tourists. Most people who come here have a house, or they’re locals coming to fish. Kyle rented a place through a friend.
My phone rings, and I look at the screen. It’s him. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Things are looking good. Hearts are still normal.”
“That’s great news.” Kyle’s referring to the twenty-nine people who are still alive. Ten didn’t make it—some of the LARPers, a few of the guys on the football team, and some of River’s sisters. The doctors figured out if they lowered the dose too fast, it caused death. But if they took it slow, the body adjusted without shock.
As for Morris and Keni, they were set free. The drug wasn’t actually illegal until a month ago. And since no one could prove Keni poisoned anyone, the charges were dropped. So without a leg to stand on, Keni and Morris got out and disappeared. Probably with whatever money they had socked away. I’d go and find them, but what’s the point? I’m not going to kill them. On purpose. They’re not going to prison.
God, I hope Morris doesn’t go into the super-soldier business. Luckily, he has no clue how I got like this. If I have anything to do with it, no one ever will.
Nothing’s changed with regard to my body and abilities, and I’ve been off the stuff for six months. I felt guilty knowing I was robbing someone else of a drug they needed to stay alive. I’m the one who figured out you could reduce the dose in minor increments and survive. It was all about preventing the body from going into shock. Like heroin. I’ve learned so much about chemistry and this crap in my body that I could probably start making the stuff myself.
Of course, none of it explains the rest. What happened to me in that pond? I guess I’ll never know. Kyle says the contents were hauled away and scrapped somewhere.
Truthfully, though, I don’t want to figure it out. I worry what would happen if I did. It would mean someone else might figure it out too. Kyle was right. There are a lot of people in the world who’d like to create copies of me. Make an entire army of Huffs.
One’s enough.
The good news is the bouts of rage have been fewer and farther between. I meditate every morning. I practice my breathing. I eat an organic, vegan diet—which I hate—and I try not to agitate my mind by using my abilities. The normal, calm, regular routines of a normal man seem to keep me in check.
“So you think you’re ready to do some more tests?” Kyle asks. “Check the heart again? See what else we can figure out?”
“I’m going to pass,” I say. “Too risky showing my face around.”
“I get it. As long as you’re feeling okay.”
“I am.” Not. I miss River. I miss her every damned day. The only thing that gives me peace is knowing she’s putting her life back together. I visit her at night sometimes while she’s sleeping. Less now than before, since I figured out zipping around makes me feel less grounded. But some days I just need to hear her breathing. I need to smell her hair and look at her beautiful face. I need to whisper in her ear that I’ll always be here, watching over her.