“The first definite sighting of an ex-human,” she continued, “was twenty-two months ago. An unidentified woman assaulted a group of Seventeens in a parking lot. The attack which infected Rodney Casares.”
Josh shrugged again, but his angry eyes flitted between the two heroes. St. George realized his hands had rolled themselves into fists.
Stealth still hadn’t moved. She was tense but fluid. She was confident.
“Your wife died two years ago, didn’t she, Regenerator?”
The doctor’s glare settled on her even as his shoulders slumped, and St. George felt something twist in his stomach.
THEN
How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?
They’re going to kill me for this.
I was one of the most important heroes on this coast. When I first started out I was the Immortal, the man who couldn’t be killed. A regular Jack Harkness, for those of you who watch BBC America. I’ve been shot, stabbed, beaten, crushed, impaled, and even eviscerated. And I don’t even have scars.
Everything I was--everything I am today—-is because of Meredith. She was the love of my life. People say shit like that all the time, I know, but there’s just no other way to put it. I thought I was in love twice in college, once with a foreign exchange student, and once because I mistook phenomenal sex for love. There was one time in my early twenties when I wanted to be in love, wanted so bad to make this woman happy, but I just couldn’t. It wasn’t there. Not until Meredith.
Stupid and cliché as it may sound for Hollywood, we met at a wrap party for a movie. Some low-budget Sci-Fi Channel thing. She was dating a grip. I was with a makeup artist. From the moment I saw her I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Black hair, blue eyes, and a set of mismatched earrings. She’d lost one of each and just decided to make a set with what was left. We started talking at the bar, chatted all night, and pissed off both our dates. A month later we were both single. Two months after that we were together.
And two years after that she died.
It didn’t happen quite like that. There was a lot more to it. Finding a Beverly Hills-adjacent place we both liked. Buying furniture. Teaching her how to drive stick. Rescuing a pair of stray kittens we named Lewis and Clarke. Proposing to her while we were getting lawn-bowling lessons.
And then there was the oddness of me developing superpowers.
Meredith helped with that, too. She was there for every part of it, keeping me sane. That first time, straining noodles, we both thought it was just dumb luck the boiling water didn’t leave me with red skin and blisters. Then there was the broken glass we thought slashed my hand, but there wasn’t even a hint except for the cut in my shirt cuff.
Of course, the one we couldn’t ignore was the kid with the green bandanna stabbing me in the gut. I know now he was a Seventeen. Then I just knew he was the punk who made Meredith scream by trying to kill me.
We’d just seen Eddie Izzard at the Wiltern and were walking to where we parked, a few blocks up Oxford. She never liked parking in structures and called it a scam. The kid grabbed her arm, shouted for my wallet, and then he twisted her arm and she screamed. I lunged and pounded him until he was unconscious, and that’s when we realized he’d stabbed me six times during our fight. Six bloody holes in my shirt, but not a mark on me.
When we saw the news reports about the Mighty Dragon, Blockbuster, Zzzap, and the rest, we both knew what I had to do. Meredith bought a full-body motorcycle suit and stitched on a logo, and for months I was the Immortal, the man who couldn’t be killed. I was hit by cars and shotgun blasts. Threw myself off buildings. One night after a gang shoot-out I got home and pulled twenty-three bullets out of myself.
And then we made another discovery.
Mere cut herself with a kitchen knife while chopping broccoli. Nothing deadly, maybe a stitch or two. We laughed--it was bound to happen someday, she was so clumsy. And I held her finger and felt a tingle, a flow of my power, and she gasped as it closed up. The skin sealed together without so much as a pucker.
A medical resident who could heal with a touch. My success rate at the hospital went up. My popularity with my fellow heroes and police did, too. It took another month for my codename to change to Regenerator.
I teamed up with most of the heroes at one point or another. Midknight. The Mighty Dragon. Cairax. Even the police during a few standoffs. I was the ultimate support guy. With me backing you up, nobody could fail. Heck, with me there everyone was an immortal.
And then, with all this going on, then she died.
It was stupid. A stupid way to die. She’d been safe. So safe. It wasn’t fair. That’s what’s important to remember. It wasn’t fair for her to get taken away from me like that. That’s what they’ll need to understand. What happened wasn’t right, so I didn’t do anything wrong.