"Hello."
Shit. I spin around to find Lady Liberty smiling and strutting toward me. I was so deep in thought I didn't hear her come in. "Why are you looking up Jonathan Ambrose?"
"I-I," I stammer, clicking out of the file, "we hired him at the hospital. Just making sure, you know it wasn't a mistake."
Her eyes narrow. "That's it?"
"Why else would I waste my time on…" I chuckle nervously. "Never mind. Did--Do you need to use the computer or--"
"No. I just wanted to check in on you. It was intense today."
"I've been in worse."
"I'm aware. Still, most people would have crumbled. You handled yourself well in there. I was impressed."
"Thank you. I'm just glad you showed up when you did."
"Thank whoever called 911." She looks me over. "Well, if you're not a basket case, I have a city to patrol. Never a dull moment here, huh?" She smirks. "I'll let you get back to your side project. Ciao." She gives me a two finger salute and begins to walk away. When she reaches the exit, she stops and turns around. "You know, I just decided something. Nightingale was right about you. You are going to be good for us. I am officially going to start liking you, Joanna Fallon." She smiles brightly. "Welcome to the family." She winks, turns on her heel, and flies away.
"O-kay," I say to myself as I turn back to the computer.
The family. The violent, dysfunctional, superhuman family. Great. Why do I suddenly feel like smashing this computer, blowing up this room, and running as far from the city as I can? I don't want this. I don't want people pointing guns at me anymore. I don't want to look at disgusting photos of human degradation. I want…
I re-open the file on Jem with a sigh. But that's my life. Was the moment my father died. Jem's right. I have to accept that. I live deep in the abyss, it's part of me, and it sure as hell is not a place I would ever afflict upon him.
I delete his file.
CHAPTER FOUR
New Friends
Running fucking sucks. I hate running. I hate sweating, I hate not being able to breathe, I hate my legs aching. It's ruined the beach for me. I'm supposed to get a rush or thrill at some point, but maybe I have no endorphins. Sure would explain a few things. The only reason I'm enduring this now is I was going batshit in that house. Couldn't even wait until night to run away. I've had constant phone calls from reporters for two days now, both at home and work. Once again in the eyes of the public, I'm a hero. Bitsy even went on television claiming she'd be dead if it wasn't for my intervention. I could handle the attention, even the paparazzi at my gate, but not one little message from Jem. He phoned yesterday, befuddled as usual, to check on me. I felt as if I were back in high school, listening to the message a dozen times to find hidden meaning in every pause. I finally deleted it without calling him back, then obsessed over that decision too. Hence the running. Physical torture beats the mental kind any day of the week.
As I'm running past my usual stopping place, I hear a woman shout, "Joanna!" from above. The female lovebird waves from her perch, and I stop to wave back. Really it's to catch my breath. I can't seem to get past the mile mark without falling face first into the sand. Lexie signals me up and shouts, "Come on!" What the hell? Like my house, hers has a million steps, and I'm about dead when I reach her patio. She greets me with a bottle of water and a smile fit for a supermodel. "Thought you might be thirsty."
I gulp down the water. "Thanks."
"Come on in, hero. Meet the husband."
Their home is a post-modern masterpiece, all angles, white walls, and glass. It's a lot less depressing than mine. Maybe I should knock out my roof and add skylights. I won't though. Even after almost a year there, the mansion doesn't feel like mine. I couldn't even re-do Justin's bedroom and I sleep there every night. Hell, I still think of it as Justin's bedroom.
A man, I presume the husband, lounges on a huge black leather couch immersed in Sports Central re-caps. He's an attractive man if you like bohunks. His red hair is longish, down to his shoulders, and wavy with muscles bulging through his white t-shirt and blue jeans. I can see why the Angels shelled out millions for him. "Babe, we have company," Lexie says.
"Just a sec. I want to see if U-Urbana won against Lake City."
Lexie rolls her eyes. "You'll have to forgive my husband. They didn't teach him manners in the cave where he was born." She walks around to the couch, snatches the remote from the armrest, and shuts off the TV.
"Hey!" Brendan says.
"We have a legitimate hero in our home and all you care about are football scores!"