Wake-up Call – Chapter 32

My bike roars as I push the engine, cutting through the backstreets and any other place I can quickly come up with that won't endanger any pedestrian.

[Taylor Hebert's preoccupation with reckless—]

Good thing she isn't here, isn't it?

[Lisa Wilbourn's confrontational—]

I'm not confrontational, Power, I am [pissed].

And Danny's going to pay for it.

With a perfectly calculated deceleration and angling of my ride, I slide the remaining distance that separates me from where I last parked my bike before sneaking through Taylor's window. The last time nobody tempted fate by trying to steal my baby, so I'm counting on a repeat performance.

So I cut off the engine, push the kickback in place…

And hold myself very still.

I [may] have some unresolved issues with parental figures pushing their expectations onto their teenage daughters. Don't know why. It's a mystery.

[Lisa Wilbourn's relationship with—]

A. Mystery.

[Lisa Wilbourn's rage—]

Yeah. Yeah, you're right, let me…

Deep breath, my abdomen filling before everything else. I don't focus on anything, just let myself notice the way the air pushes my chest up, my clavicles, and how it all deflates and sinks as my body softens when the air comes out.

Then I do it again.

And again.

And again.

And there's a point where I feel a cool sensation spreading over the top of my skull, and [then] I allow myself to notice something other than my breath and the way it moves my body.

I notice my anger. My rage. My frustration.

Except now my attention is clearer, less prone to be swayed and be carried along, because if somebody who constantly argues with a voice inside her head is likely to learn something fast is that I am not my thoughts. Not my feelings.

They are a part of me, much like my hands or my feet.

And if my hand hurts, I won't let that change who I am. And if I'm forced to limp, I won't allow that to change how I see the world.

So I notice my feelings, let them come and go, until I reach… Not calm. Not quite.

But clarity.

Enough of it to realize that the anger is just a layer, something covering a feeling that goes much deeper, that sinks into the barely noticed parts of my mind.

[Lisa Wilbourn's disappointment—]

You really like to take the mystique out of things, don't you?

[Lisa Wilbourn's plan—]

Right.

Don't quite have one, but I should start working on it.

So I dismount my bike, take off my purple helmet, comb my hair with my fingers because I don't have Taylor's magic 'it just shakes into place' shampoo advertisement locks, and walk to the backdoor of her house.

To scold her father.

… I'm not paid enough to deal with this shit.

[Lisa Wilbourn's millionaire—]

My point stands.

I don't knock, not when it's so obvious where the backup key is stashed ([uncared for yard, one pot without remains of plant life—)], so I just open the door and let myself in.

The light of the kitchen is turned off.

"Lisa," Danny greets me, his tone devoid of any nuance.

Because the stupid man thinks I need any.

[Lights out due to stress-induced migraine. Careful speech to mask alcohol usage. Alcohol used as both coping mechanism and pain-relieving—]

Thanks.

"Hey there, father-in-law."

He stiffens.

No, not like that. [Gross.]

"She's with you?" he asks, trying to paper over his flaring hostility at my address.

I turn around and switch the light on. As he hisses, I noisily slide a wooden chair away from the table and sit facing him.

He doesn't look that good, and his rapidly blinking eyes don't do him any favors.

"At my apartment," I finally answer.

He's trying to appear calm. Civil.

I don't like it.

"And you'll let her stay and run away from—"

"She isn't running away. It makes absolutely no sense to keep attending Winslow, and caring for your daughter's future includes caring for her survival."

"What—" he recoils, still off guard from the light turning on, because the migraine was almost over, but the sudden change in circumstances is making him feel like it isn't.

And I'm not inviting him to join the Tylenol club. Its membership is very select and restricted to people that don't make my blood boil.

"You were depressed. Hurt. Lost. And I would forgive you all of it, because I know what grief is like—"

"You don't know—"

"I triggered after my brother's suicide. After far too many sleepless nights wondering why, what happened, what did I miss, what could I have done differently. I [know]. I understand in a way very few people do. Insult me by doubting that one more time, and I'll shoot your kneecaps off."

He stills, his breathing stopped.

And he forces himself to fully open his eyes.

They are so much like Taylor's I want to scream.

"Is this your idea of being conciliatory?" he asks me.

"Danny, I came here after my girlfriend ran away because [you] pushed her away because of something as utterly ridiculous—"

He smiles.

Oh, God damn it—

"Finally clicked, didn't it?" he asks me. And that smile is sad and self-pitying, but also mocking.

This family and their damn smiles.

"If you're really planning this, I may as well shoot your kneecaps off and save every one of us the grief."

"I miss the old days; people had a more artisanal touch. None of these new-fangled 'guns,' just a tire iron, some elbow grease—"

"Danny, if her father commits suicide by gang, I don't know if I can keep her alive long enough to heal."

He looks at me. Really looks, his eyes staring straight into my own until I feel the need to look away.

I don't.

His smile comes back, a bit more energetic.

"You're lying," he says. And there's genuine joy in that assessment.

…

You know what? Fuck it.

"Yes, I am lying. Because of course I can keep her alive. I can say precisely the right word to cause the reaction I want. I could have her cheering at your funeral, ecstatic at the knowledge that you've been finally reunited with your wife. And then I could keep twisting and pulling, because she trusts me, and I know her mind like no other mind on the planet. So I could take the leash off my power and turn her into whatever twisted fantasy I could come up with—and you'd be far too dead to do anything about it—"

A fist slams on the kitchen table.

He doesn't smile.

I do.

"You wouldn't do that," he says, breath ragged, fingers clenched.

"I wouldn't. Unless you gave me no other option."

And he goes back to looking at me, at my insolent grin—

"Not even then," he says as he forces himself to open his hand.

"You can't be sure—"

"I can, because you aren't doing it to me."

And now I shut up as he goes back to examining me, and my grin grows stiffer as my jaw clenches.

"I won't say you're a good person, Lisa, because I don't know you that well, but you've got scruples. Limits. Lines you won't cross. You think it's acceptable to manipulate me, the father of the mind you know like no other on the planet, but only to save my life, to maybe salvage whatever's left of my relationship with my daughter. And, even for such a goal, you won't cross your lines. You will… pull and twist? Yes. Yes, you will. But you won't tear. You won't draw blood."

I close my eyes and allow my tension to flow out with my breath.

Then I open them to stare at green irises behind dirty lenses. At big eyes framed by thinning hair. At the stark shadows of the incandescent bulb drawing harsh lines through a face with wrinkles deeper than they should be at his age.

At the bags beneath his eyes, the shoulders raised in tension, the carefully measured, slow breathing, the stained collar of his shirt…

"You are adorable," I tell him with my most acid tone.

The shoulders raise a bit more even as the face remains impassive.

"You think you can play this game with me. That just because you're more experienced than I am, that levels the playing field. You think that a few correct guesses let you predict what I can and cannot do.

"You are wrong.

"I'll give you a freebie: you were right. I've got scruples and lines I don't cross.

"Don't. Not 'won't.'

"Because I'm unhinged, Danny. Every single parahuman is. And, currently, the only thing that allows me to float above water, to retain what moral sensibilities I once had before being forced to work under a man who kept raping and torturing my other selves, is Taylor.

"So, as long as I have that reminder, that spark of light and joy, that sign that the world isn't meaningless, cruel, and would be far better off if I was in charge… There are things I won't do.

"If that light is threatened? The gloves come off. And that means no more playful banter, no more scatterbrained Lisa. That means that every single word, every gesture, will be measured for effect. That if I walk into a room, people will see who I want them to see. That I will do what I can [actually do.]

"Do you want me to show you, Danny? Do you want a sneak peek at what that Lisa can do? At how I can lower my tone, straighten my back, brush my hair back, put on a very specific frown, and talk about how [disappointed I am at what you've let our daughter go through—"]

His chair clatters as it falls to the floor, and Danny breathes in and out in labored panic.

"Get out," he finally whispers.

I look at him.

I don't stand.

"You hurt the love of my life. You made her feel unwanted, abandoned. And I could forgive you that.

"But then you had to repeat the whole stupid thing so you can play at fighting your own crusade, and I won't leave this place until I'm sure you won't orphan her again."

He looks at me.

At my eyes.

And I look at him. Intensely, searchingly.

And he looks away.

***

We are sitting on the couch of the living room, because I felt like changing the setting could only help after that latest display.

I'm not proud of it, of the Lisa I told him I could be.

Mostly because I wasn't [quite] lying.

I can see it, you know? See how I could just… shift. Not even change, just look at a different angle.

I could keep my sense of humor, my lighthearted banter.

I could keep some friendships, and God knows Brian would be far easier to handle.

I could keep being fundamentally me, just… with another focus.

And with that focus, I could pick apart everyone. Fulfill the role they need me to, become indispensable to them. I could have them turn me into the center of their little, messed up, twisted worlds.

And I could rule them.

It wouldn't even be hard. Sometimes, I think it's harder not to do it.

And… this is stupid, and I won't ever say it out loud, but…

'All shall love me and despair.'

There's a good cautionary tale in there.

All right, not really, because there would be plenty of people I'd have to get rid of, so not [everyone] would love me, but…

Colin has almost adopted me, and it is genuine, and it breaks my heart a little bit every time I think about it and let myself put a name to it.

Dragon approves, and she trusts me enough that she's set me up to discover her secret and free her from those who hold her leash.

Hannah… Hannah would like nothing more than to call Colin 'daddy' in a very inappropriate way and—gross, gross, [gross!]

The point!

Yes, the point is that all of this is me being myself, using my power the bare minimum to go through the challenges that require it. But Power's learned how people work. He knows how to push, how to break, and, more importantly, how to build them back up in the way he prefers.

Because there's one very afraid, very disturbed girl building bombs for us in service of a terror she barely dares to name and Dragon randomly playing insect sounds through the bunker she's locked in.

… Right. I don't know why I felt the need to go through this whole self-examination. It's obvious I've got the potential to rebuild the people around me: I've already done so.

So, yes, I could be… not a villain. No.

I could be a monster.

And everyone who survived would thank me for it.

"It really was for her sake," Danny says, not looking at me.

"I know you think so. That's why I held back."

He turns toward me, mouth agape.

"You did [what?"]

And I roll my eyes.

"Seriously? The whole Dark Lady speech? As much as I love the classics, I won't monologue to someone if I—Danny, seriously, stop looking at me like that. It's creeping me out."

"You just, just—how was that holding back?!" He throws his arms up.

I barely hide the need to tsk my tongue at the display. Really, such a drama queen.

"You're talking coherently instead of being catatonic and locked up in a padded cell." Oh, right. Emma.

Yesh, I'd better not keep reminding myself of all these little examples of how I'm actually closer to Darth Lisa than I thought.

Also, if a short guy offers me a ring, I should knee him in the groin and run as fast as I can…

Just in case.

"You could do that to me?" His voice shakes, and I stop looking like a condescending teenager long enough to shoot him a sideways glance.

At the man still unstable from me barely imitating his dead wife. I mean, it's not like I've got filmed samples to study; I was just playing it by ear.

So I consider him. What I know about Taylor's past few years, what I've personally seen, what I know he's been up to.

And answer.

"Yup."

He gapes.

"I… I don't feel comfortable with you being so nonchalant—"

"Danny, I've got an alien voice stuck in my head constantly whispering the secrets of the world at me unless I make an active effort to keep him quiet. For some reason, he's particularly apt at picking apart people, so this comes up to me needing to make an effort not to do to everyone a less kind version of what I just did to you in the kitchen."

He shivers.

Drama queen.

"How do you—"

"Because I've got no other choice. And because Taylor helps more than she'll ever realize."

He looks away from me, in front of him, over the television and through the translucent curtains of the window behind it.

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"That's because it isn't. Also, speaking of health concerns, this morning I hired my old band of supervillains to patrol the Docks against other gangs."

"… What?"

I take a deep breath.

"You did this because you love Taylor, so I'll forgive you. This time."

"Lisa, what are you talking—"

I turn on my seat, facing him with my body, not just my head.

He shifts back toward an armrest that doesn't give him as much leeway as he would prefer.

"You were scared after Bakuda's attack. After seeing Taylor in action, knowing what she does, what she'll keep doing for as long as she can. And you felt rage at all those awful people who suddenly went, in your mind, from parasites hurting this city you love to potential threats to your daughter. So you banded together with your people, those who are loyal to you and each other, and painted a target on the backs of those you want to destroy so Taylor can be a bit safer, just a tiny bit less likely to catch a bullet when she's too busy battling a moronic cape to notice a mook about to get lucky."

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I really didn't expect this to turn into a therapy session, Lisa."

"Then maybe you should have gone to a real one years ago. Grief counseling is a thing, you know?"

And now he opens them and looks back at me, doing that cool 'over the glasses' thing I always loved in The Neverending Story.

"Did you go?"

"No. I triggered, ran away from home after my parents tried to exploit my power for economic reasons rather than properly allow me to grieve my brother, and then got conscripted at gunpoint by a supervillain. Also, I am an irresponsible teenager. What's your excuse?"

He throws his head back, and he laughs.

It's… It's far from cheerful. There's resentment at the world, a bitterness that he always carries, but…

It's still a laugh.

So I'll count it as progress.

And then his phone rings.

His [cellphone].

He freezes, and I look at him until he picks it up.

He listens for a moment.

"I'll be right there," he says, and then he hangs up.

"No, you won't," I tell him.

And then take out my own phone. Because I need to call both Taylor and Brian, and the last thing I needed tonight was to have them both together in the same place.

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 85 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!