2103:12:25:15:02:33

  We – as in, Mom and I – were sitting on a bench just outside the entrance of Aberdeen Grand Central, at the top of the two sets of stairs leading into the building to shelter from the not-quite-pouring rain.

  Just like when we waited at the Avery-McGill Shuttleport, we were here to welcome Michael back to Charm, though unlike the shuttleport the Grand Central was just a plain old boring train station, if a large and stately one. At least with the heavy clouds the lit-up Christmas tree and other holiday decorations were bright and full, giving the building some life, while the sound of rain made it strangely warm – in an emotional sense; it was 6° Celsius.

  Still, I preferred the shuttleport, but it seemed that whatever budget Miele & Van Dijk Electronics had given to Michael’s late boss had been cut. Maybe it was done as a punishment for Michael due to how everything went down in Charm. Which would be strange and cruel – it wasn’t like it was Michael or his boss’ fault that Soliloquy did what he did – but sometimes people were both of those things, let alone businesses as large as Miele & Van Dijk.

  But there was also a second option, one that Michael hadn’t stated outright but Mom had picked up in tone and subtext: Michael’s stay was temporary. It was likely the death of Michael’s friend and manager had resulted in Miele & Van Dijk cancelling the west-coast expansion, or at the very least struck Charm off the list as a possible location for said expansion.

  Again, Michael hadn’t said anything about it outright, but he had been in a foul mood when he called last week, telling us he’d come back the day before Christmas and stay with us until New Year's, then move out definitively after. He’d said nothing about moving back to New York, but also nothing about having found his own place in Charm or about his prospective enrollment at Washington University.

  All of which left Mom and I uncertain. Something we – or Mom, at least – would surely tackle in the coming days.

  At exactly 16:33:21, I spotted Michael coming down the stairs, suspiciously unburdened by the stuff he'd taken with him to New York. I nudged Mom and together we walked up.

  In typical Mom fashion, she went in straight for a hug. Curiously, Michael accepted it without complaint or that look of suffering he liked to wear when Mom did as she did. Instead he was, if not exactly happy, then accepting enough to hug back immediately, and there was in fact a light smile trying to fight its way to the front.

  Just as curious, Mom was uncharacteristically restrained with her hug. Here though the reason was plain as day: she’d had a busy week.

  “Merry Christmas, Michael. Good to have you back,” Mom said, releasing the hug and smiling as she looked at her son. “How was your stay in New York? Caught up with your friends there? And how was the funeral?”

  “It was fine,” Michael said as he went to hug me. Ours was a bit stiffer – or so it felt on my part – but I’d rather have this stiff-but-natural hug than Mom trying to smush us together like the first time.

  He released me and continued, saying, “Didn’t have the time to really catch up with friends – well, outside of those I know from work. The funeral went alright. Nice enough venue, well prepared, well attended; family, friends and co-workers and all. But with the way it went down, and without a body to show… the family had it rough to say the least. Even for a funeral it was a, ahh, depressing affair.”

  Mom hummed in reply, face full of sympathy and if I wasn’t imagining it – or worse, projecting it – apologetic as well. She and I had been involved in Soliloquy’s end, after all. And while it was Soliloquy that killed Michael's boss rather than us, it still felt…

  There was no point thinking about it.

  We began moving towards the car, with Mom carrying on the conversation. “And how are you feeling?” she asked.

  A scowl briefly crossed his face – was it aimed at Mom or the situation in general? – before shifting to melancholy. A weary sigh left his mouth.

  “Not great,” he said. “With me coming from Charm and knowing the family personally, I became a sort of… spokesperson? Representative?” He shook his head. “Something like that anyway. I was the one that had to talk with the relatives, explain the situation, what happened to them and what’s being done; that sort of stuff.”

  I frowned. “Couldn’t they just get that from the news?” I asked.

  “Probably,” Mom answered instead, “but people like to have a familiar face explain things whenever they can.”

  Michael hummed affirmatively. “That, and also what Miele & Van Dijk could and would do for them. Like covering funeral expenses, helping deal with insurance, execution of the will, asset and estate management for the family; all that good stuff.”

  “Ah,” Mom ah-ed, “sounds rough”.

  Michael hummed noncommittedly.

  “They do that?” I asked, focusing on the other stuff he said.

  Michael looked confused for a second, then nodded. “Yep. I mean, not normally, but Alf was pretty well known at headquarters. While not officially a part of top-level management, he was the guy they called when they had something that needed doing, like conjuring a whole branch from thin air in a city on the other side of the continent.” He smiled ruefully. “One he’d hoped would be his escape from just that lifestyle.”

  His gaze darkened and there was a sharp edge to his voice as he said, “But really, it’s that and PR, both internal and to the public. Whether it’s true or not, people will see what happened as management sending him to Charm, only for him to end up dead – which is not a good look. Combined with Alf’s reputation, they would’ve done it regardless of whether or not it was the right thing to do.”

  We arrived at Mom’s car and took our seats. Whether it was because we were talking or because Michael preferred it, he joined me in the back rather than sit in the front with Mom.

  “And is that why they did it?” I asked as Mom began our drive home.

  Michael snorted. “I’ve met management; they’re not the altruistic types. Alfons… he could be a bit of a hard-ass at times and get pushy when he wanted something, but overall he was the exception. Unlike him, the company at large won’t give a rat’s ass as long as it doesn’t hurt their bottom line.”

  “Then will you still stay with them now that he’s gone?” I asked.

  Michael startled upright at the question. “What? Leave them?” The question genuinely seemed to baffle him for a moment, before a thoughtful look came to replace it. However in the end, he shook his head. “No, I can’t. Not now at least. I still have obligations to them for what they- for what Alfons did for me. And at the very least I need to finish my work-study program there.”

  “‘There’?” I noted the word-usage. “So you’ll be moving back to New York after New Year’s?”

  He released a heavy sigh and leaned back into his seat. “Yeah. You know that deal I mentioned?” he asked, to which I nodded. He’d said something about having found a partner the day his boss died. “Well, it fell through. The other party said that without Alfons, they’d rather partner with another supplier.” He all but sneered at the last part.

  “That sucks,” I said.

  “Yep. And now management has decided to cut the cord as well.” He sighed. “All that effort we put in, that Alfons put in; all of it wasted. They’ve already recalled the rest of the team. Hell, they even tried to keep me in New York despite me explaining it’s Christmas time and whatnot. Was like pulling teeth to get them to allow me to come. Not that they could prevent me, but, well, you can guess what type of people they are.” He laughed darkly. “Wasn’t even allowed to put the trip on the company card, even though it’d cost them next to nothing and my contract with them said I could.” His smile was like that of a fox. “Did it anyway. Let’s see whether they’ll make a fuss over nothing.”

  I smiled and chuckled with him, one larger than the remark warranted. His vengeful ‘prank’, if it could even be called that, against his bosses didn’t matter as much as the thought he was willing to do so just to spend Christmas and New Year’s with us.

  “You know…” Mom began carefully. “If you want to stay in Charm and continue your studies here, all you have to do is ask. No matter what the company wants or does, even if they try to levy fines to force you to work through your contract, or outright sue you, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Something washed over Michael. A mix of emotions no doubt, and more than one of them negative. But ultimately, all he said to the offer was a soft, simple, begrudging yet sincere, “Thanks.”

  Whether because the topic had run its course, because Mom had to focus on the road, or because Michael focused his attention out the window in contemplation, the car turned to a comfortable quiet for the rest of the journey.

  X

  Christmas proceeded as Christmas does. Shortly after we got home, we got to unwrapping the presents Mom had prepared. I got a skateboard I’d helped pick out – she’d already bought me knee and elbow pads and a helmet before – while Michael got a watch that once belonged to his dad. I gave Michael and Mom the socks Mom had told me to give – apparently a traditional gag gift of the family or something – while Michael understandably gave Mom and I some hastily-bought souvenirs from New York.

  As the day carried on, we both helped Mom cook Christmas dinner. Not that our part was that complicated. Mom took care of the more difficult stuff, like the roast and soup along with the dessert, while I busied myself with the salad and sauces for Mom’s roast – all according to Mom’s recipe, of course. Michael set the table, prepared and cut the bread, made a few side dishes, and stuff like that.

  All things taken together, there was way too much food on the table for just us three, but I supposed variety was more important than volume in this case. The rest would probably become leftovers for tomorrow at the very least, and maybe even the day after as well. Or who knows, maybe Michael would take some for his friends or something; I knew nothing of his plans between now and New Year's.

  After all was set, Mom surveyed the table. “Well, that seems to be about- Oh! Michael, could you pour us some drinks? There’s a bottle of special wine in the fridge if you’re up for it.”

  “Sure,” Michael said. “Sam?”

  “Mist please,” I said, then took my seat. Mom did the same opposite of me, with Michael’s seat at the ‘head’ of the table between the two of us.

  A couple pops, fizzy hisses and gurgles later, Michael joined us at the table.

  “Thank you,” “Thanks,” Mom and I said as Michael took his seat.

  I reached for the ladle in the pot of soup, ready to start pouring everyone something when Mom held up her hand for a second.

  She raised the glass of wine Michael poured for her and himself, and said, “Not to get too sappy, but it’s been… more than a little while since I’ve had a Christmas that felt this lively.” She was smiling, though there was an edge of bitter, regretful memory underneath it.

  Michael, either sensing the mood or deciding discretion was the better part of valor, said nothing snide or sarcastic for once. Naturally, I didn’t either.

  “So for that, I wanted to thank both of you.” Mom turned her eyes straight to mine. “You, Sam, for coming back into my- into our lives, and doing so well despite it all… you can’t imagine how happy it made me.” Her eyes were growing moist as she looked at me, and I put my all into not appearing too awkward.

  She turned to Michael. “And you, Michael, for giving me a chance despite… despite everything. I know- no, I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been for you, and I know that no matter how much I apologize, it won’t fix things. So just know that I really do appreciate the effort you’re making.”

  I did not blink at that, but it did come as something of a surprise. Yes, I’d seen Michael try on occasion to get along with Mom, but it still far too often followed a cycle of light-hearted talk to a bit-too-sharp snide comments to awkward silence. Then again, Michael did come back for Christmas, even though – insofar as I understood it – he had little reason to.

  Looking somewhat sheepish, Michael mumbled a small and awkward, “Yeah.”

  Mom’s laugh at that was watery, but honest and happy. “Been a while since I had to make a non-work-related toast,” she said with a huffy laugh. “And I was never quite good at them anyhow. Either way: cheers, and merry Christmas!”

  She raised her glass and both Michael and I followed suit, saying, “Merry Christmas,” as our glasses rung together.

  Dinner proceeded as dinners do, going from soup to the main meal and onto dessert, and all the while we talked. Michael shared more about his time in New York, mostly in the forms of complaints against his boss(es) and the time he spent with his late benefactor’s family. Mom told in more oblique terms about her own work, and mostly complained about all the paperwork she’d had to do after such a ‘hectic couple of weeks’ – I didn’t even know heroes had paperwork, but then again so did cops. I told them – though mostly Michael – about school updates; how my skateboarding, Sambo and other hobbies were progressing; and about my friends and some of the fun things we did and talked about.

  Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the toast clearing the air between them, but Michael and Mom were talking with each other without so much as a shadow of their past hurt or ill feelings coming to haunt them. Not that it was all happy, of course, but it was nevertheless very… familial. Like this was the stuff that families were supposed to be doing rather than awkward silences, long-distance sniping and getting annoyed and angry at one another’s behavior.

  In short, this was one of the happiest moments of my life. And if the trend continued, I’d have them reconciled before New Year’s.

  So with this newly-gained overconfidence, I of course had to shoot myself in the foot by opening my mouth and bringing up-

  “Crater Lake?” Michael asked, eyebrows raised in surprise for some reason.

  “Hm-hmm,” I hm-hmm-ed. “Mom and I went there last weekend. We just got back yesterday before we went to Millie’s Christmas Eve dinner.” I took another spoonful of delicious pudding. “You didn’t know?”

  “I didn’t, no.”

  “I’m pretty sure I told you about it,” I said, then shrugged. “Well, those last few days before you left were pretty hectic. Wouldn’t surprise me everyone just kinda forgot in the rush.”

  Michael didn’t look like he believed me – either that, or the wine was the cause behind his glassy-eyed look of incomprehension. “Why? And what did you two even do? I mean, it’s not exactly a great winter vacation spot.”

  Again, I shrugged. “It was alright. And besides, we were only there for two days. We went to the Seattle Memorial Museum, walked up a hill to some sort of lookout point – still don’t like the woods, but Mom insisted,” I mock glared at Mom; her returning smile was strained for some reason, “and of course we went and saw the night lights in the lake water. That one was definitely great –not counting how it ended, obviously. That part sucked.”

  “‘How it ended’?” Michael prompted.

  “Mom didn’t tell you?” I asked.

  I turned to Mom, who shook her head and said, “I, uh… thought maybe it’d be better for you to tell it?”

  That was surprising. I had kind of assumed that Mom had told Michael she’d told me about the Peakstar stuff. I mean, she’d already told Millie about it, and I knew for a fact that she had talked to Michael over the phone yesterday for confirmation on the time he'd be back in Charm, so she’d had plenty of opportunities.

  I highly doubted she’d simply forgotten to tell him, but whatever. She was probably right that it was better that I was the one to share the… good news? Was it ‘good’? It was certainly better than not having been told anything even if the contents and outcome were less-than-stellar. But more importantly for right now, the secret was out and in the open so…

  Yes. It was good news.

  “Mom planned the trip because she wanted to tell me…” I frowned, only now realizing I couldn’t actually say it. Even though I was certain Michael already knew, saying Mom is Peakstar would still technically be outing someone’s identity. “Well, you know. The thing you wanted her to tell me?”

  “What?” he asked, still looking at me questioningly. I was certain that would’ve done it. Was the wine getting to him?

  “You know, the big thing?” I looked to Mom, silently prompting her to say it out loud.

  She sighed. “I told Sam that I’m Peakstar.”

  That seemed to sober Michael up quickly. His head snapped to Mom and he said, “What.”

  “Yeah,” I said, drawing back his attention. “She told me while we were out on the lake.” I grimaced at the memory. “Got this huge headache afterwards where my vision and stuff got wonky; a stress-induced migraine, the doctor said. Even now, whenever-” I cut myself off there. No need to go on a tangent, or tempt fate. “All to say that I, you know… know, now,” I finished lamely.

  A few seconds of silence passed by as Michael continued to stare. Mom took a shaky-handed sip – more of a gulp, really – from her wineglass.

  “Okay, and…” he said slowly, still staring at me as another few seconds passed. “What, that’s it?”

  I blinked rapidly a couple of times. “I- what?”

  “What do you mean ‘what’?” he asked bitingly. “Weren’t you surprised? Angry?”

  “I- I don’t-” I stammered. This wasn’t the direction I’d been expecting, hoping for it to go. “I just- of course I was! I just wanted to say I was happy that-” that she told me, that we were now all in the know, all on the same page; all that was what I wanted to say, but Michael cut me off.

  “Happy?” he barked. “Aren’t you furious that she-”

  “Michael-” Mom tried to interject, but Michael again interrupted.

  “Don’t ‘Michael’ me!” he said, jumping out of his chair and glaring at Mom. “I want to hear Sam speak.”

  “Of course I was- I am angry,” I said, his eyes turning back to me, “but it wasn’t her fault. How-”

  “‘Wasn’t her fault’? She killed you, Sam!” he said. “Killed! You and Dad both! She! Killed! You! And now you say you aren’t mad at her?!”

  I winced; the headache was starting to build again. “I just said that I am-”

  Mom, misinterpreting my wince, glared at Michael and rose out of her chair as well. “Michael, stop yell-”

  We were both interrupted by Michael shouting, “‘Stop’?!” He laughed madly. “Of course you want me to stop! That’s all you say, all you’ve said about it for years: ‘Stop talking! Stop asking questions! Stop mentioning your sister and dad! Can’t you see it’s a sore topic?!’ Never, not a once did you want to talk about it, and even now you still tell me to ‘stop’?!”

  Mom winced. “That wasn’t-”

  “You didn’t tell me for three fucking years!” Michael yelled, angry tears streaming down his face.

  Mom fell quiet at that.

  “I had to find it out myself!” he continued, backing up and away from the table. “Had to hear it from the fucking news instead of my own mother! That- that it was you, that it was my own mother that killed Dad! That killed my big sister!”

  He hit the wall and stopped. Mom and I remained quiet as Michael rubbed his face and took increasingly shaky and frantic breaths.

  “A-and now you tell me you’ve told everything to Sam just because she prods you for a few weeks?” he asked, voice muffled as he cradled his head between his hands.

  “I wanted to!” Mom was in tears now as well. “I swear I really, really did want to tell you, Michael. But I- I know this doesn’t excuse it, but I was- I felt so much grief, and anger, and so, so much shame and guilt… I shut down, stopped functioning like a person and threw myself into work to- to distract me, to redeem me. And by the time I climbed so much as a centimeter out of that hole, you were already so, so angry at me, and there was so much yelling all the time… I kept trying but I just couldn’t-!” Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t process it anymore, so I just… And then I discovered with that whole tear you went on almost every, single, night, I was so scared that… I’m so, so sorry Michael.”

  Michael looked up, shocked. “Y-you know?”

  Mom’s laugh came out broken. “You called yourself Darkstar; of course I figured it out.”

  Things snapped into place. Michael’s absence during all those days, why the name Darkstar was so similar to Peakstar, Soliloquy calling him Mike, his return to Charm, the failure of Miele & Van Dijk’s expansion and Michael’s forced return to New York; all the loose threads now tied into a single, horrible knot.

  “You’re Darkstar?” I asked quietly.

  My voice shocked both of them out of their stupor. So deep had they gone into their own private world that it wasn’t until I spoke that they remembered I was here at all.

  At the same time, the dull headache that had lingered on the edges during their talk transformed sharply, drowning and taking on an entirely different shape. An alien wrath born out of broken purpose, manufactured paranoia and unbridled opportunism flooded into me, looking to smite my brother using me as its instrument.

  Never before had my Heroic Impulse made itself so clearly known, nor in such a disgusting way. Here was a villain inside my own home, a threat that would’ve already killed me months past if it weren’t for an undiscovered quirk of my powers. That would kill me if he knew who I was. And with Peakstar here it was so, so easy to just take him out right here, right now, drag him to jail, and get one of the Jannacht’s rising stars, a murderous, bloodthirsty villain off the streets and locked up.

  All I needed to do was to take the first step and attack; the rest would follow.

  To actually do it was unconscionable. It would break the Treaty; it would kill any bond I had with my mother; he was my brother, even if he also wasn’t; and on a level I so deep inside I couldn’t describe it, it would just be wrong wrong wrong for me to do what my Heroic Impulse wanted me to do right here, right now.

  But it didn’t care. Its siren’s call was deafening, overwhelming. My hands, my feet, and the trigger-mechanism of my shifter power all itched with a call for violence.

  I pushed myself away from the table, throwing my chair backwards as I rose. Mom and Michael were speaking, but whatever meaning those words held never landed. And all the while, wordless whispers urged me to attack.

  “I- I can’t- I have to go.” I mouthed the words but couldn’t hear them, nor hear a response. I walked backwards towards the front door, my eyes still locked on Michael by a will not entirely my own.

  Both Mom and Michael made to follow and talk me down, their motion triggering my Heroic Impulse to push harder and strike now while I still held the element of surprise. Strike now before they figured out what I was. Strike now and capture the villain. Strike now, strike now, strike now.

  I kept my backwards pace, nearly stumbling over something I couldn’t tell the shape of, triggering Mom and Michael into a rush to catch me.

  With the last shreds of my thoroughly-confused minds, with the last shreds of my quick-fading willpower, I turned around and sprinted towards that brief glimpse of the outside I spotted. From hours and hours spend practicing until it became a reflex deep inside my subconscious, I used my powers and shifted mid-sprint into a crow, flying towards the open sky.

  I crashed hard into the closed window and for the first time in my life, embraced oblivion.