Killing Olympia

I flew directly home, shedding my clothes mid-air and sliding on bits and pieces of my costume. By the time I got to my bedroom window and hauled it open, I was fully dressed and almost out of breath. My ears stung from the frigid temperatures. Tiny golden tongues of electricity snapped in my hair as residue from how fast I flew here. I dumped my backpack on my floor and jogged into the hallway. Dead silence. I checked the spare rooms, but Cleopatra was still out, her perfume still in the air, almost soaking into the carpet. I strained my ears, then went downstairs, where I found mom sitting alone at the kitchen island, a dish of dead cigarettes next to her, one more in her mouth, and a glass of half-empty wine swirling in her hand. The oven was on, throwing a soft orange light through the kitchen, almost the only source of light in the entire house. I paused, panting, then looked around.

I reached for the lightswitch, but before I could turn them on, she said, "It's alright. I can see." I lowered my hand and swallowed, my throat dry and heart fast. My cheek still stung. My mouth still tasted like iron. And mom, slowly, dragged on the cigarette and flipped through something in front of her, eyes glazed and perfectly silent.

I felt like I was intruding on something. The air smelt like sickly sweet smoke and meatloaf. I slowly walked closer, the sound of my boots knocking against the floor. "Mom?" I asked quietly, reaching the island.

"You've had a very busy day today," she muttered. "Dinner's almost ready. Won't be long now."

I got a little closer and looked around. If something was wrong, my senses weren't picking anything up. It felt like whiplash, tell you what, shattering the air flying so quickly getting over here just to stand still, forcing air in and out of my nose instead of my mouth. I looked at the large book she was flipping through, and caught a glimpse of myself. A photo album? We've got one of those? Mom looked up at me, her eyes slightly hooded and her back to the oven, shading her in the kind of darkness only heavy shadows can cast. Then she smiled at me.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "I saw that Ares took you into custody today. What happened?"

The last time she asked me how my day went was…hell, freshman year in high school. Years ago.

"Long story," I said. "Hey, where's Becca gone? I need her help with something."

"You're bleeding," mom said, frowning a little. "Did Ares do that?"

"Bianca did," I muttered. She straightened. "It's nothing. I just need Becca right now."

"Unfortunately," she said, tapping ash off the cigarette's end, "she left the house a minute ago. You just missed her. You might not be blood, but you're both such nomads I'm surprised you don't bump into each other."

I swore, then said, "Where'd she go?"

"No idea," mom said. "All Becca said was that she'll be back before morning."

I groaned, then tried calling her. It was just my luck that her phone didn't even go through.

Come. On. Just one stroke of luck would be great, universe!

"What did you need?" Ronnie asked. "Unless it's crime-fighting related. I'm not the most gifted fighter."

"I've got a cartel I need to find out about," I said. Looks like I might just have to go and ask Ava. Can't wait for that conversation. "Turns out they've got a drug that can sorta deal with whatever is inside of Bianca."

Mom smiled, drawing creases along her mouth. "That's wonderful. Look at you, saving the day."

I scoffed a little. "'Saving the day?' I haven't saved anything. I got beaten up by a couple of government jackasses, found out the government is internally falling apart, got a new job, and got hurt by the girl I've got a crush on." Mom smiled even wider. I shook my head and said, "Don't start getting weird. It wasn't a great first date."

"Oh?" she said, threading her fingers and resting her chin on them. "Tell me about it."

"Not right now," I said, waving at the front door. "I've gotta go and find where that cartel is. Might end up leaving the country looking for them for all I know, and knowing my luck, maybe I'll end up in outer space, too." I folded my arms and chewed on the edge of my tongue. The oven timer kept ticking. Mom sipped her wine, looking at me from just over its brim. I sighed, then said, "You know what really pisses me off?" Mom waved her hand for me to continue. "The government. Like, when we left Arkath, I thought I wouldn't come across such giant pieces of shit in power in a country where everyone's so happy to be free and true and filled with justice and whatever. Turns out they've lied to me way more than any supervillain has. And they use me. A lot. This one guy, some Overseer, gave me a costume that turned out to be reading my vitals and storing them away for the government to learn about. Fair enough, that was stupid of me. I should've known better. But I was pretty desperate for some kind of lucky break, so cut me some slack." I started pacing the kitchen. "And then this other guy who apparently runs the Olympiad handed me a dossier today and a brand new paycheck for every name I take down for him. I've got no idea how this guy's gonna screw me over either, but he said he'll train me, which probably means he's either stupid for making me more of a problem if he stabs me in the back, or he actually just wants to be someone I can rely on."

Mom nodded slowly and poured more wine for herself. "So you work for him now?"

I shook my head. "No way. I work for the city. He tried to spin this weird narrative that I work for America, like I'm some nuclear weapon they can threaten other people with. Ha! I didn't listen to anything the Empire had to say, what makes either him or the president think I'd listen to them after all the shit they've put me through?" I stopped pacing, sniffed the air, then jerked my chin at the oven. "Meatloaf is ready. Any longer and it'll burn."

Mom smiled and got up. "Get yourself a daughter with superpowers." She slid on a pair of oven mitts and pulled the meatloaf out, steaming hot as she set it on the stovetop to cool. "You would've made my life easier if you did your chores as quickly as you rushed home to watch those cartoons you used to like. Remember the one with the, um…" She pulled off the mitts and massaged her eyes. "The one with that boy who's half-alien? Bizaro-Boy?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "Yeah, that was it. I can't believe you actually remember its name."

"You used to stay up way past your bedtime watching it," she said. "With all that convincing I had to do to get you into bed, there wasn't a chance I'd forget." She sat back down, sipped from her wine, then rolled her hand through the air again. "You were saying something about not working for the government? About hating them?"

"Oh, right," I said. I sighed and leaned against the fridge. "Turns out there's an arm's race going on."

"I've heard about that," she said, nodding. "It's what Cleopatra told me is happening across the world right now. I'm not sure how much you paid attention in history class"—I smiled, because we both saw my grades through the years, none of them ever spectacular—"but it would be our second Cold War. Cassie pumping out superheroes is a bad idea. I told her they weren't ready. None of them really are. Adam was the test run, and you kept proving me right. They just can't develop fast enough to keep up with you, and no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many brilliant minds she drags into her corporate umbrella, she'll just never crack the genetic lottery." Mom turned the wine in her hand, looking just past me. She sighed quietly. "I started something I shouldn't have. But at the end of the day, she's not capable of continuing it. The costs run too high for projects so varying. At some point, unless she starts seeing results, her investors are going to start stepping back and asking her what the hell she's thinking."

"Her investors are the people in the White House, aren't they?"

Mom shrugged one shoulder. "The government has a bad habit of taking things away from people when they aren't happy. Private military contracts are lucrative. Very lucrative. It's how she manages to afford to keep making so many of them. But for whatever reason, they just don't want to let go of her vision, no matter how many times you turn Adam into a laughing stock." I smiled a little. Mom did the same and shook her head, then raised her glass to me. "Want some? I know you're not old enough, but what the hell? I never got the chance with my mom."

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"Is it a bad time to mention that I used to steal from convenience stores with Em when I was a kid?"

Mom stood up and grabbed another glass from the cabinet behind her. "Rylee, you're forgetting just how many times they caught you vandalizing the lockers in school. Where did you even get that spray paint from?"

I laughed. "Oh, man, now that's a great question. I'd steal it during arts and crafts."

"A superhero who steals," mom said, pouring wine into a glass. "To us, always doing it differently."

She slid it aside and sat down again. I know I had to get out there, but five minutes wasn't a tragedy. Besides, I was starving. I hadn't eaten properly all day long, too. So I sat next to her and sipped the wine, feeling it run down my throat, a lot sweeter than I thought it would be, too. I coughed a couple times. Mom patted my back and stopped herself from laughing. Sensitive taste buds, you know how it is. One glass became two, and after that, we sat in soft silence, the meatloaf behind us cold, the wind pushing against the windows, and our eyes pouring over the photo album in front of us. There were so many of me in here. Way more than I ever thought I'd find. Sure, we had pictures littered around the house on shelves and near the TV, but not an entire book full of my baby pics.

"Oh my Gods," I whispered, tapping a picture of an eleven-year old dressed just like her dad, padding costume and everything. An old birthday photo of me leaping off the couch, taken mid-air before I hit the coffee table and winded myself. "Why do you have all of these? When did you even take all of these pictures, anyway?"

"I wasn't always working," she muttered, slowly flipping the page. "I took them when I could."

I stared at the pictures for a while, then looked at Ronnie. "But…why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why?" I said. "I thought you kinda just tolerated me growing up."

Mom froze, then turned her head to stare at me. She lowered the wine glass and straightened. Her lips parted to speak, then she swallowed, looked away, and quietly swore. "I made you feel that way?" she whispered.

"Well, not all the time—"

"Rylee," she said. "You can tell me the truth."

I swallowed and drummed my fingers against the table. Silence settled between us. I sighed and rested my elbows on the counter, massaging my face. You tried your best," I muttered. "Could've been a lot worse, right?"

"I don't think there's any way for me to keep apologizing and making it mean more," mom said. "I don't think anyone's ever ready to be a parent, especially a mother of a little girl who could almost fit right on the palm of my hand." Her voice was lighter, and so was her smile. "You were so small when you were born. And when I held you, I almost didn't know what to feel." She tensed her jaw, cursed, then took off her glasses. I glanced at her as she massaged her eyes. "I used work to fill the blanks of something missing in my life. Work is quantifiable. Deadlines are met, projects are structured, and once they're completed, it means you've done your job, and you get your results at the end. Something you can see. But emotions are a lot different. And it took me a long time to realize that." Mom looked at me. Her hand reached for mine, paused, and finally settled on the back of my hand. "I don't deserve you, not after what I've done, but I'm learning, and I'll make up for it. I just hate I made you feel that way."

"Then why'd you make Adam?" I whispered.

She blinked, then shook her head. "Ambition, maybe. A drive to see if I could actually do it. You know how it is, doing something to prove other people wrong. I don't know. Maybe I did it because I just wanted you to not have to be a superhero. I wanted someone else to take that burden off your shoulders. You deserved a life worth living, because I'm trying to get used to seeing my daughter fighting for her life on national television, but it's hard, Ry. It's just so hard." Mom gently rubbed her thumb over my scarred knuckles, staring at the back of my hand and slightly crooked fingers. "Zeus was very many things, and I just wish he did a better job of being your father."

"Yeah," I muttered. Silence. "And then he died, right?"

"Yeah," mom whispered, nodding slowly. "And then he died."

The house was still, and so was the night pressing against the outside of the house. I could almost hear every single cricket and every single heartbeat echoing through the suburb. I pulled my hand away from mom and folded my arms, leaning against the counter and staring into the empty wine glass. I should probably get going.

"I never hated you, Rylee," mom said quietly. I turned to look at her. "I hope you know that."

"It hurt when you kicked me out," I muttered, chuckling. Then I cleared my throat. "But it's whatever."

"I hate myself more and more for ever doing anything I did that night," mom said, staring at the photo album. One photo on that page. One tiny polaroid of a little girl grinning on her mother's back. "I said things no mother should've ever said. I killed myself working so hard to get a house like this in a lovely little neighborhood I once thought only existed on TV, only for me to go and tell my own daughter to get out of her own home." Mom slowly rubbed her hands together, then looked away. I heard her heart skip a beat, then she cleared her throat and apologized as she looked at me again, eyes a little redder. "And now look at you, all grown up. Before I know it, you'll have your own house, the entire world is finally going to give you the respect you deserve, and I just wish I'll be around to see it happen." Mom squeezed my shoulder. "I love you, Rylee, and I'm learning how to show that properly, but I do, I promise. So if there's anything you ever want, tell me. I'm done working. It's all for you now."

I frowned a little. "What's going on?" I asked. "Are you dying or something?"

Mom smiled, then shook her head. "Right," she muttered. "You don't get drunk easily. I'm such a mess. God, Ronnie." She stood up and grabbed the kitchen towel off the oven, using it to dry her eyes. "You shouldn't be seeing me like this." She leaned against the sink, her blond hair falling over her shoulders. "Give me a second, Ry."

"Do you miss him?" I asked quietly. "Dad?"

She didn't speak. Not for several moments.

Then she said, "It's complicated. He hurt you so badly."

"But a part of you loved him?"

"A part of me got used to him being here," she muttered. "It's…odd, seeing someone you once fell in love with dying right in front of your eyes." She stayed silent, shaking her head. She slowly turned around. "We were very close to a divorce. A few weeks away at most. He didn't want me to leave, but the only way I agreed to stay was if he treated you better. If he actually loved you, powers or not, because you were always going to be his daughter."

I tensed my jaw. "Means a fuck load of nothing if he never did anything about it."

"I know," she said. "Promises don't mean a lot in this house, do they?"

I sighed, then massaged my eyes. I laughed a little. "Meet the Addams, we're a fucking mess."

Mom got closer, then wrapped her arms around me. My head pressed against her chest as she combed her fingers through my hair. For a while, she said nothing, and I didn't either. I wrapped my arms around her torso and shut my eyes, lowering my shoulders and unclenching muscles I didn't even know were tensed. My senses slowly dampened, silenced, got a lot less intense, until all I could smell was mom's faint perfume and all I could hear was her soft heartbeat. Before I knew it, my head was nodding, and sleep was crawling down my spine, spreading warmth through my body from the base of my neck. I shook my head. Gotta go save Bianca, Ry. Come on. Up. Now isn't the time for a nap. But mom didn't let go. She stroked my hair, rested her chin on the top of my head, then slowly, gently, kissed my forehead. I don't know what happened. My throat clenched, then so did my entire chest.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered. "My daughter is going to be the greatest superhero on the planet."

I smiled softly. "Even better than the Lord of the Skies himself?"

She put me at arm's length. "He'll be a footnote by the time you're my age."

I stared into her eyes, my throat dry, heart beating slow. "Do you actually believe that?"

"After everything he put you through," mom said, "I know you wouldn't settle for anything less."

"I'm not doing this because of him."

Mom smiled, then gently pressed her fist against the golden crest on my chest. "Good," she said, then patted my shoulder as she walked past me. "Because you deserve to do it for the girl who never stopped believing she'd be great." Mom paused on the foot of the stairs, looking at me, smiling and holding onto the bannister, swaying slightly. "Have a good night, Rylee. If you're heading out, don't forget to lock the front door. I found an old cook book, so we're either going to have pancakes tomorrow, or their remains. I'll leave some out for you, Ry."

I drummed my fingers against the counter, glancing at the windows. And for some reason…

I just felt so tired.

I really hoped New Olympus could understand, just for a couple of hours. I'd be back at it in the morning, a lot more ready, a lot more energized, and besides, Becca was the one with the plans and the information and the know-how on how to hunt down cartels. If I went to Ava, I'd just be getting myself warped up in a stew of fights and messes I could ultimately go without. And at the end of the day, that fourteen-year-old wearing a pillow case around her neck, fists on her hips, both front teeth missing as her eyes sparkled, would've probably never believed I even had my own costume, or powers that could lift buildings, fly faster than sound itself. I hadn't done a lot of saving. I hadn't been great at this gig. But standing right behind that girl was mom, hands on her shoulders, smiling widely.

And hell, can't disappoint mom all the time, right?

"Is it…" I picked my fingernails and looked at her. "Is it alright if I go to sleep? I feel kinda guilty."

A flicker of an emotion crossed her face, one I couldn't understand in the split-second it was there. But just like that, it was gone, replaced with a lucid softness. "Of course it is," mom said. "Even Bizaro-Boy had a bedtime."

"Yeah," I said, smiling as I got onto my feet. I yawned, stretched my arms over my head. "Gess he did."

"Don't forget to cover the meatloaf," mom said, climbing the stairs. "Goodnight, honey."

"Night, mom," I whispered. When I heard her door shut, I pulled out my phone and opened Bianca's chat. I stared at the messages, then at myself in my phone's reflection. Don't chicken out now, Ry. It's only a text this time.

I covered the meatloaf, left the wine glasses in the sink, and pulled off my costume walking up the stairs. I collapsed onto my bed and set an alarm for seven, then rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, then sent the chat.

I'm going to save us, I sent. I promise.

Because, for once in my life, I wanted to start making those mean something.