Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone by Christopher Andrews Read Free Book Online

the mention of the bastard who slaughtered Steve’s entire family.
    “... to inspire new and old paranormals to turn hero , not rogue. I’m glad that some have tried, I am. And I’m sorry that the Magnet got himself killed in the attempt. But I had dreams of, I don’t know ... a bigger effort? A greater turnout? A true Class One stepping up to the plate in spectacular fashion?” He chuckled under his breath. “Hell, maybe I should change my uniform colors — go from black-and-gold to something vibrant, like blue-and-yellow, you know?” He flipped a thumb toward the door, after the departed Jeremy Walker. “Tone down the Christian Bale and put a little more Christopher Reeve in my approach. Maybe that would help. What do you think?”
    Ardette considered her answer before saying, “I think ... that you are describing a very noble, very laudable goal, and I do not doubt for a second that you really mean it. But, Steve, I can’t help feeling that you’re also hiding behind it, that there’s something more you’re avoiding talking about. Am I wrong? If I’m wrong, just say so.”
    Steve was quiet for a while, long enough for Ardette to decide she wasn’t going to get anything else. She was on the verge of patting his leg and stepping away from the table when he finally spoke up.
    “I ... I sometimes think that maybe I’m sort of ‘addicted’ to being Vortex. Between running the company (with tons of help from you and Alan) and putting down dangerous rogues ...”
    He fell silent again, but this time Ardette knew to wait.
    After close to a minute, he continued in a voice heavy with emotion. “Vortex keeps me from thinking about my family. Mom and Dad, Jonathan, Dan, Aunt Carol, Uncle Del ... every one of them ... all dead, all murdered . Goddamn it, my brother was incinerated beyond recognition , so he’s still technically ‘missing’ — we didn’t even have a body to bury.”
    A tear trickled down his left cheek; he wiped it away with an irritated jerk. It was an odd sight, Ardette thought — his crying without the slightest hint of bloodshot in his artificial eyes.
    “Then, to top it all off,” Steve continued, “I had McLane within my grasp, I was hellbent on executing him ... and it turned out that I’d already accidentally turned him into a brain dead vegetable while I was fighting his stupid pawn?” He released a bitter guffaw. “I’m still processing that cruel twist of fate — I got my revenge without even knowing it. By the time I laid hands on him, it was already done. He was already gone, lights on but nobody home.” He glanced at her. “How screwed up is that?”
    Ardette had been mostly unmoved by his “inspiring hero” explanation — admiring of his dream, but dubious of his inner motives — but this ... this private admission, a more detailed confession than he’d ever before offered ...
    Placing a gentle hand on his knee, she said, “Steve, if you ever need to talk about this ...”
    He chuckled as he wiped his cheek again. “I thought that’s what we’re doing.”
    She smiled with him. “Okay, granted. But you’ve been holding on to this for a year now. You’re not alone, Steve. I’m here for you, and I don’t mean because I can pop your shoulder back into its socket.”
    Steve laughed. “I know. Tell you what—”
    But the nearest training center door opened again, revealing a demoralized Alan. The older man hustled over to them, while managing to look like he didn’t really want to do so.
    Ardette glanced at Steve, but because of his implants, his wiping the tears away removed all signs that he had just been crying.
    “Against my better judgement,” Alan said as he reached them, “I have some news to share with you, Steve. But if I didn’t know you’d chew my ass out later if I kept my mouth shut about it ...”
    “Alan,” Steve said with equal parts humor and fatigue, “you look constipated when you get like this. Just spit it out.”
    Ardette barely