"Dad, I'm a cape," I say, gathering my courage. "I... I didn't have the guts before, but now... now I can say it. And... am I the Butcher?"
I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. No, that won't work. What's with that questioning tone at the end? Sounds like weak excuses. And anyway, should I do this gradually... or all at once? Rip the bandage off quickly or slowly? I read that nurses prefer to rip bandages off quickly, supposedly it causes less pain, and that's true, but there's a nuance. Patients suffer more pain when they're ripped off. But it really is easier for the nurses. They feel empathy and it would be unpleasant for them to do it slowly... plus other patients are waiting. So they prefer to tear the bandage off the wound.
But I'm not a nurse at Saint Benedict's State Hospital, and my father is closer to me than any patient is to a nurse, so I should do everything gradually, smoothly. First I'll admit that I'm a cape. Like, here, I have abilities and that's that. And only then, that I'm... who I am. Hmm. It still ends up like tearing off a bandage. From what point? Right from when I say "oh, and I killed Lung here... but only in self-defense!" and immediately—here we go... he'll definitely ask if I've killed others, and what do I answer? "Yes, but they were all bad"?
I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. Still haven't confessed to Dad. Half the city already knows—the PRT knows, Empire knows, Coil knows, Lisa knows, Victoria Dallon knows, Amy probably knows... and I still haven't told Dad. Coward. Stop, stop. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. There were no cowards in the Hebert line, Taylor. Go and tell Dad everything. What are you afraid of?
"Probably that he'll turn away from you, right?" sounds an insinuating voice in my head. "That's an understandable fear, Taylor, no one will judge you. But you know you can always count on me, right?"
"Fifth. There you are," I say. "I heard you, but he's my father and I don't want him to turn away from me."
"He's not like that," the voice assures. "Danny will always support you. Even if the whole world turns against you—he'll be on your side... and if not... then I'll always be on your side. Remember, I'm completely honest with you, Taylor, I simply have no other choice."
"You tried to take control," I remind him. "Forgot?"
"And I honestly told you about it, remember? You were ready to give up the driver's seat yourself," he says. "And I can fix everything."
"That's in the past. Now I know what I need to do," I say. "Make decisions with my heart, not my head. Too bad I can't kill you, Fifth."
"The feeling is mutual, Taylor. Unfortunately, even your death wouldn't improve my situation... would probably make it worse. So you don't need to fear me—I wish for your death in an ideal world, and that will never happen. Right now your life and my comfort are closely linked, and I'll still be ready to replace you on the captain's bridge as soon as you understand all the futility and vanity of existence. As soon as it becomes unbearable—just call me. I'll be waiting." And he disappears from my inner world. I still listen for him, understanding that for some reason I feel a deep subconscious sense of attachment and warmth toward this terrible person. What kind of ability does he have? Could he be a Master? When he speaks—everyone falls silent and listens only to him. His voice inspires trust. Respect. You want to believe him and you do believe him. If my father hadn't knocked on my bedroom door, then... it wouldn't be me who opened my eyes, but him—Fifth, the one who truly earned the name Butcher. The real Butcher. Who is he? I need to find information, can't let him crawl into my head again in a moment of weakness—I need a weapon against him.
I look in the mirror. If not for Danny... if not for Dad... I sigh and decisively wipe my face with a terry towel. My phone buzzes on the shelf, I flip it over. Message from Tattletale—she writes that Bakuda has been settled at Coil's base, that she's handling finances and the Undersiders, preparing them for tomorrow's meeting. I send back an approving emoji.
Now—I know what I need to do. With great power comes great responsibility. First—I won't let the former ABB territory fall into the hands of the Merchants or Empire. This city will get its Switzerland, neutral territory where you don't have to dress in red and green or wear eighty-eights, a place where business flourishes and security is ensured. Ideally I'd spread this to the whole city, but for now, as Lisa says—I need a pilot project. My insects continue studying Accord's plan for restoring the city's economy, a multi-page PDF volume with graphs, charts, explanations... and as always in any plans, the weak point here is people. It was smooth on paper, but they forgot about the ravines. Accord is brilliant in his calculations... everywhere except where it concerns people.
And that's already my concern. No, not like that. That's our concern. Mine, Lisa's, and Coil's. Make decisions with the heart, that's what my father told me, and I'm his daughter. Hebert the Seventeenth. And I'll live and act as my father and grandfather would have acted.
So—I'll declare Coil's territories, the former ABB territory, and the Docks a territory of safety and freedom. This won't be the territory of some gang, or cape team, much less the Butcher. This is territory of free people, and we'll just ensure security from external forces.
I lower my gaze to the phone I'm still holding. Dial the number.
"Hey, boss!" sounds a cheerful voice on the line. "Can't sleep?"
"Lisa. Sorry for the late call. Really can't sleep," I say. "Listen..."
"Not another word! I'm coming!"
"What? Wait, wait..."
"You wanted to talk to me about something important, didn't you? And you wanted me to be nearby right now... and I know why. You don't really need my help that much," she says. "But I'm a bit uneasy. We're really getting into the Major Leagues, Tay-Tay. And there, mistakes aren't forgiven. I'll be at yours in five minutes, I'm already dressed." Dial tone.
"Tsk," I click, lowering the phone. "Show-off." I look at myself in the mirror one last time. A tall girl with a mop of black hair, with a serious, even determined expression on her face. I try to smile. It comes out badly—a forced smile, as if someone pulled the corners of my mouth, while my eyes don't smile, remaining serious. This is probably how maniacs smile, I think.
I leave the bathroom and go downstairs. In the living room by the TV sits my father watching an ad for "Brown Sea Sugar," an antiperspirant deodorant that will always help in awkward situations—with "Brown Sea Sugar" you'll never sweat in front of girls again!
Male chauvinism, I think, watching a young guy ride off into the sunset on a speedboat, holding a tanned beauty in a swimsuit in each hand. Though right now I could use some—I'm starting to sweat.
"Dad!" I say and Danny turns his head.
"What is it, little owl?" he asks, raising his hand with the remote and muting the TV.
"Dad... Lisa's coming over now," I say. "To visit. Not for long. We wanted to talk. Is that okay?"
"Of course. Your friend is a welcome guest in this house. Even if she's such a viper as Lisa," he says. "Isn't it too late for her to be wandering around the city alone?"
"She's in a car," I say. "And driving straight here."
"Lisa has her own car? So she wasn't exaggerating when she said she works in a high-paying position. That's good, now I'll know who in your family will be the breadwinner," he smiles. "And who will be the decoration."
"Dad!" I protest and he smiles even wider.
"Alright," he says and gets up from the couch. "Should meet her outside. Car or no car, they could attack when she gets out. Dark times. Even though our neighborhood is relatively quiet, still..." He opens the closet and takes out an old Remington twelve-gauge. Trench broom, that's what they called this shotgun during World War I, and judging by its appearance, it managed to be in that war.
"Dad, isn't that too much?" I raise an eyebrow. "You'll scare Lisa. Who are you planning to fight?"
"Well, scaring Lisa is worth it too," he nods, pleased with his joke. "Let her be scared. I'll be the typical 'shotgun dad' who makes sure nothing happens to his little girl. Since I didn't get to scare boys away from you, I'll be strict with your girls. Gender equality, Taylor—if someone comes to my house to take you away, they should see this shotgun. So they know what will happen if they hurt you. Him or her."
"Yeah right," I roll my eyes to the ceiling. "Of course. You like Lisa more than I do."
"Always liked blondes," Danny admits. "You have your father's taste in women. But first and foremost I liked smart ones, and your friend is a smart girl."
"Sometimes too smart," I grumble. "Her intelligence gets in the way of living."
"Well then." Danny throws a blanket over his shoulders and becomes similar to either a Mexican or an Indian, wrapped in a blanket like a poncho with a shotgun in his lowered hand. Only missing a sombrero or feathered headdress. He tracks my gaze and shrugs.
"Gets cool in the evenings," he says. "You should throw something over your shoulders too if you're going to meet Lisa outside."
"Okay." In the hallway I throw on a jacket. Actually I don't feel the chill—I'm too excited. Too many thoughts in my head. But the main one is that I can't wait and hide anymore. Tonight I'll confess to my father. No... that sounds wrong somehow. Confess that I'm a cape. There.
We go outside, Danny turns on the porch light and leans against the railing. I sit on the steps. Sparse streetlights burn on our street—only four total, and one periodically goes out and flickers back on, goes out and flickers. I feel small night moths circling around it. In the sky, the lives of gnats go out one by one—bats have come out to hunt. In neighboring houses they sleep; only a young couple from the house across the street isn't sleeping—the same one where Sophia Hess tried to hide in the attic. The couple is, of course, making love, and how don't they get tired of it? My Butchers are sitting in cockroaches—someone watching series and movies, someone playing browser games, someone chatting on forums. Edward is talking to his daughter—well, texting. Apparently it's not easy for her right now, first year of college, difficult curriculum, not the most welcoming fellow students... not that they're bullying her, but they ignore her so much it hurts. She also has problems on the personal front and... enough, I won't pay attention or it'll be awkward.
"When Annette and I bought the house here, everything was different," Danny says aloud and looks around. "This was a very promising place. Suburbs, 'Lion's Real Estate.' Sounds stupid, doesn't it? They even had a slogan: 'The lion's share of your success.' Back then the Docks were full of work, and Annette and I had enough money to think about a second child. I even suggested she quit work—I could support us both. But she refused. For her, work was something more than a way to earn money. She liked her job. We often thought about the time when you'd grow up and be all grown up, how you'd bring home a boy for the first time, how you'd start disappearing at dances, how you'd get ready for your prom..." A sad smile plays on his face. "Too bad she didn't live to see all this. But I'm sure she's watching us from somewhere above." He raises his head and looks at the night sky. "And of course she's proud that she gave birth to and raised such a wonderful daughter."
"Dad! I'm going to cry again!" I scold him, raising my head in turn. "Really..."
"Okay, okay. I just wanted to say that from the moment a Narwhal poster appeared in your room... the kind that usually hangs in guys' garages and truckers' cabs... I understood I'd more likely be expecting someone like Lisa as a guest," he chuckles. "Kids. You think your parents are completely blind? Believe me, we were kids too—you can't fool us."
"Car coming," I say, watching headlights flash in the distance. Not one pair—two. A few seconds and the car enters my power's range. Not a single insect inside... except Lisa's beacon. But she's not in her car. I raise an eyebrow, pursing my lips. So that's how you decided, Lisa, I think, you decided to go all-in. You're not leaving me a choice, are you?
"Cars like that don't usually drive around here," Danny says, gripping his shotgun more comfortably. "Is that a Rolls-Royce? What's it doing here..." He falls silent, watching as the black armored bulk of the car smoothly stops at our house. In front of the Rolls-Royce—a sinister-looking black armored SUV. Two people in black clothing get out of the SUV, wearing body armor and carrying short assault rifles. They spread out to different sides, taking control of their firing sectors. Professionals.
A driver gets out of the Rolls-Royce and opens the passenger door with the dignity and grace of a maître d' opening a door for a queen. From the dark depths of the luxury car appears a hand in a white glove, which accepts the offered help, and now under the light of our street's lamps appears Lisa, dressed in a white, form-fitting but strict suit. Looking at her, only one word comes to mind—"chic." Luxury. Breeding. Right now she's like Monica Bellucci, elegant and confident, no trace of the teenage girl, the sarcastic friend, the girl-next-door—such girls don't exist in suburban neighborhoods.
"That's what money does to people," I chuckle.
"Uh... your friend really does have a high-paying job," Danny says aloud, hiding the shotgun behind his back. "Maybe I worried about her safety for nothing."
"Danny. Taylor," Lisa nods, standing before us. "We need to talk. Shall we go inside?"
"Uh... yes, of course!" Danny recovers, bustling and almost dropping his old Remington. "Of course! Come in! Why stand on the porch—there's no truth in standing..."
"Oh yes. Truth is somewhere in between," Lisa smiles slyly, becoming herself again instead of a lady from a royal family magazine cover.
"Lisa!" I cut her off sternly. "Stop it! This is my dad!"
"Exactly why," she smiles. "Sorry, Danny, it's nerves."
"Nothing terrible, come in, I'll put on tea. And your... uh... won't they have tea?" Danny looks around at the people in black and the driver in a strict suit.
"They have their own work," Lisa waves dismissively, entering the house. "It's so hard to find good help these days..."
"Lisa!"
"Oh, come on, Taylor. For once I can play aristocrat," she smiles, sitting at the table and immediately putting her elbows on it and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. "So then. I've recovered from the initial shock and can say that I'm in favor."
"In favor of what?"
"I'm in favor of your plan. Not letting Empire and Merchants sow chaos in the city. Establishing order and protecting people. I'm in favor. You're so much better than Coil that there's really no choice. And I'll gladly participate in all this fun. Plus I'll enjoy watching you poke Coil, running him ragged... and you will. Definitely."
"Lisa!" I give her wide eyes, nodding toward Danny, who stands right there in his blanket thrown over his shoulders like a poncho with a shotgun in his lowered hand. "Lisa, what are you doing?!"
"What am I doing. Danny, you already know, don't you? You suspected, but now you know for sure, right?" She tilts her head and studies my father with her mocking eyes. "Parents see everything, Tay-Tay."
"I... knew it," Danny sighs heavily and sits at the table, leans the shotgun against the wall and rubs his face hard with his hands. "Suspected, yes. But I drove those thoughts away."
"But... when did you find out? And why..." I ask, afraid to finish the sentence. Why did he drive those thoughts away? Because no one wants to learn that their daughter is a killer.
"When did I find out... feels like I always knew," he says. "But I started seriously suspecting after that incident at school... and when you came back with your clothes all torn up. Clothes torn, but not a scratch on you. I fought in school and after, I know there should have been bruises... at least bruises. And then—you changed quite a bit, little owl. No, you remained who you were—Taylor Hebert, but your behavior changed, you understand?"
"Do you know... who I am?"
"Of course," he says firmly. "You're my daughter. Taylor. Hebert the Seventeenth."
"But..."
"I drove those thoughts away because I was afraid," he admits. "Because if you really are a cape, if you're Poison Ivy, and now—the Butcher... then..."
"Then..." I continue, feeling something snap in my chest while my mouth goes dry as a desert. Lisa sends me an encouraging look and squeezes my hand.
"Then it would mean you're in danger," he explains. "And I'd be helpless and unlikely to be able to help you. And I know these are normal fears of all parents, but admit it—I have more right to them than others! Being a cape is dangerous by itself! And you're already in the thick of things, little owl. And I'm scared for you."
"There you go," Lisa says. "And you were afraid. I told you adults see everything. You have an amazing father—I want one like that too. Can I borrow him?"