Web of the Weaver: Sidestory, Mysterious Death in a Gray Boy Zone! A Family Mourns.

We stopped outside of Michael’s house. It looked normal. The silly welcome mat, the paint job that had a few missed spots, the car in the front.

I took a deep breath.

“The PRT can handle this,” Stimmons said.

“No. I promised them.” A memory flashed. How Dad looked after he’d gone with the police and come back. Almost someone who had been shot in the heart, only now realizing it.

I was about to do the same to this family.

I walked into the room, Michael’s mother letting me in. The father and Jenna were on the couch.

“Christa is at the babysitter's,” Mrs. O’Grady said.

I nodded. “Jenna…”

“I wanna be here!” the girl said.

No, you don’t. Her parents… They were lost. I expected that normally they might keep her from this, but right now… I shook my head. “Your son did not die due to a conspiracy.” I decided to rip the bandaid off. “It was a foolish football team ritual that went very, very wrong.” With that, I quietly started explaining. There was no need to show all the methods I’d used to come to my conclusion. This was painful enough for them without my showing off.

It took shorter than I expected. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. Their cat meowed, somewhere back in the house. A horn honked outside.

How very normal. I remembered Mom’s funeral, wondering how it could happen under a normal, sunny, sky. Didn’t the world know what had happened?

But for the rest of the world, life went on. It was only in this house that it had been shattered.

“So, my idiot son, decided to fuck around with a Gray Boy loop.”

“David,” his wife said.

“No, this was just like him, Mr. O’Grady said, face turning red. “Like that time when he was ten and he decided he was going to paint the house and fell off and broke his arm. He always thought he could handle… handle…”  It was like watching a building collapse as the anger he’d forged, at the PRT, at some “Master” collapsed before the reality. “Oh… Oh God my boy, my baby boy!” he wailed and then fell to the ground sobbing, as his wife ran to him, holding him, crying as well. Jenna ran out of the room, and my bugs detected her heading for the back.

“Stay with them,” I told Agent Stimmons.

“Yeah.” He nodded, sympathy on his face. “I’ll do what I can.”

I moved quickly, right behind Jenna. If she ran out of the property, I’d have to make certain to get her, but she was in back, a few toys around her, where she’d fallen to the ground. I walked up to her.

“Jenna?”

“I yelled at him.” She was hugging herself. “It’s my fault.”

“No,” I looked at her. “Can I sit down here?”

“Grass’ wet.”

“Not much,” I replied, sitting down on the wet grass.

What do I say? I could be running every one of my bug links, read entire libraries…

And there would be no answer. Not one the Investigator or Orb Weaver could give.

So it would be Taylor. I reached up and pulled my mask off, put my hat down, and then fished out my glasses. “Hello Jenna, I’m Taylor.”

She blinked and looked up at me. “But isn’t that a secret?”

“Some things are more important. It wasn’t your fault. Your brother… he was very sick. Nothing you said or did made this your fault. You loved him.”

“Marcy says he’s gonna go to Hell. That’s what she heard someone say,” Jenna said. “Because he killed himself.”

I tilted my head. I’d done research of course, even though I wasn’t Catholic, but for this… “Is Marcy God?”

“No!” Jenna said. “She goes to school with me.”

“And I doubt the people she heard are God. God understands that some people are very sick. And sometimes, they can’t find their way out of their dark place.” I paused. “Do you think God loved Michael?”

“Yes…”

“Well then, God wouldn’t hurt someone he loved. Your brother is in heaven,” I said, putting every bit of sincerity I had into my voice. And I was sincere. If there was a heaven, Michael was in it, and if God wanted to contradict me, He could come down and do it in person.

“Don’t wanna go to the funeral tomorrow.” She said. “Everyone says we’re gonna say goodbye. Don’t wanna.”

“When my Mom died, I didn’t want to say goodbye, but you’re not.” I quietly said, remembering lying in bed while my Dad let Mom go, kneeling before an empty chair. “We’re telling them how much we loved them. And we’re telling them that we’ll remember them and keep loving them.”

“I’m scared.”

“Would you like me to go with you? If you’re scared, I’ll be with you.” God, I was so damned bad at being comforting. It sounded cliched even to me.

“Would you?”

“Sure. I’d have to get a dress,” I said. “But I will.”

“Okay…”

“Are you ready to go back inside?” I said. “If you want, I’ll have your parents call so you can stay at a friend's house.”

“Okay…” With that, we walked back into the house. If the parents saw me, well anyone who wanted to know knew, and… I was too damned tired to play the whole game right now.

****

Armstrong was going to attend the funeral. In our meeting he shook his head.

“We’ll be compensating them, because none of this would have happened if we’d fixed the damned crack. We’re surveying every other zone… but… Gates, Horses.”

“Closing the gate keeps any other horses from getting out,” I said, handing my documentation over.

“And you spoke to Accord.”

“Twice. He’s satisfied with the outcome and the Butcher will be too…” I shrugged. “Evidently he combined the information with a bribe consisting of a pallet load of vodka.”

Armstrong nodded. “We do that as well. You’ve resolved this very quietly. Have you considered joining the Protectorate when you turn 18?”

“That’s far in the future…” I shook my head. “I am a young teen, after all, but if I were to do it, I’d need room to operate with mundane crimes. I’m a minor Thinker, after all…”

Armstrong stared at me. “If you’re expecting people to underestimate you based on you calling yourself a minor Thinker, you may be disappointed…”

I had to laugh. It wasn’t very funny, but after the last few days…

Next, I found myself being fitted for a dress. On the PRT’s expense, and I got some scandalized looks from the man when I casually mentioned his skill in making someone like me look attractive. Still he was very good at his job and I looked… decent, in the mirror.

And it was distracting me from what I was about to do. I’d made a promise. I would keep it.

****

The church was an older Catholic church, enduring riot and parahuman, and the change of an age.  There were people going in. I saw Sheila walking with her parents. Principal Winna, Director Armstrong, other teens with their parents, friends of Michael.

The rest of the football team, wisely, decided not to make an appearance.

I waited for the O’Grady’s to arrive. They did. The father looked like he was still in a waking nightmare. Mrs. O’Grady… she’d been quieter, but was guiding the man. Her eyes were red as she helped Mr. O’Grady out. Behind them came Jenna, clutching her mother.

“Thank you,” Mrs. O’Grady said. I nodded. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t notice.

“Jenna,” I said. “Do you still want me to come with you?”

The little girl looked up at me. “He loves Michael?”

“He does.”

“And Michael is in Heaven?”

“He is.”

“I can go.” I nodded, and held out my hand, and she took it, her fingers cool, the hand smaller than mine.

I had never done this before. It had always been someone else holding My hand. But I would do it. I looked down at her and nodded, and the little girl started walking, following the parents to where the Priest waited for us.

With that, we walked into the church, her to say farewell to the brother she loved, me to wonder about the life of the boy I’d never met.

End.