“Meg, we’ve all been so worried about you—we were planning to have a family meeting with you this evening, but then just now? I kept knocking on your door and when you didn’t answer, I called for your brothers to come help. Alik kicked the door in to get to you. You wouldn’t wake up, Meg! You were bleeding from the head, and you wouldn’t wake up. I was terrified! What happened?” The tears the usually composed doctor had been trying to control slipped freely down her cheeks. She looked distraught.
“I don’t know how it happened,” Meg said emphatically. “I took a shower, felt dizzy and passed out. I must have hit my head on the faucet.” She touched the tender gash and continued. “When I woke, I made my way to the bed and thought I just needed to sleep it off—maybe I over did it at this morning’s workout,” she shrugged trying to diminish the extent to which she knew she’d damaged her young body.
“When the nightmare started, I assumed that’s all it was, but this was different. I was there, mom,” she locked eyes with the woman who had given up everything to raise her.
Maze stopped cleaning Meg’s arm, satisfied with his work and pressed his sixty pounds heavily against her side, head lying in her lap, softly whining.
“It was as if I was looking directly through his eyes this time—like I was Williams,” She looked across the living room but her eyes only saw Creed lying under the white sheet, eyes closed, dark hair cut so short she could see his scalp.
Her voice came out as a whisper, but she couldn’t help it. Her throat was closing up—tight and constricting with emotion. “Creed is alive. He destroyed the last two vials of serum we left in Paulie’s lab by crushing them in his hand rather than let Williams have them. The broken glass cut his hand—some serum got into his bloodstream.”
She wasn’t watching the faces of her family. She just stared, unblinking at the images flashing through her mind.
“Williams was furious at him for that. He wanted that serum so badly. He kept him alive to punish him. He figured out there was something different about his pain tolerance—maybe even at a gifted level, so he decided to keep Creed alive so he could torment him, use him as a lab rat, exact his revenge on him.” Meg swallowed, the tears slipping down her throat.
“Then Creed healed twice as fast as he should have and when he woke, he had no memory of us. He doesn’t remember me.” She gagged on those words, and had to cough painfully to regain some semblance of composure.
“They ran a battery of tests to be sure. It’s true. He has no memory of anything that happened after the Retribution Match against Gavil. He even thinks he’s in the hospital right now recovering from the injuries sustained from that fight.” She didn’t realize how badly she was shaking until Evan tried to pass her a glass of water. Though she had to use two hands to hold it steady enough, Meg did manage a sip. She was thankful when Evan reached over and took the glass from her before she drenched herself.
“Williams is planning more atrocities. I could feel his thoughts. He wants to punish Creed for his treason, for ruining his last chance at getting his hands on the original Infinite serum.” She took a deep breath. “Please don’t make me explain everything,” Meg begged, shaking. “Please trust me when I say we can’t just let Williams take this next step. He’s planning to create metahumans by breeding. He knows how much Creed loves family so he’s going to force him to father his next disposable test subject. He wants to dissect a metahuman embryo—Creed’s child.”
Margo’s face went from shock to rage by the time Meg finished speaking.
“Nooo!” she screamed, pain and fury vibrated in her cry. So heart-wrenching were her sobs, Meg felt compelled to reach out to her. She felt the same anguish; the same feeling of helplessness. She didn’t know what to do with the information she was given, but she knew it was sickening, heartbreaking.
The room was silent except for the sound of sobs. She looked around at the people who offered to share her burden and thought how tragic it was that they couldn’t just live blissfully unaware, with no one hunting them, no plans for war.
Meg’s tired eyes settled on Farrow, whose shoulders shook—her face buried in her hands as she cried. She made not a sound. Meg’s empath skill told her Farrow was never allowed to cry as a little girl growing up in the militant metahuman compound. Her punishment would be severe should her tears be discovered as it was considered a sign of weakness. She was thinking about the role she played in Creed’s capture, feeling guilty.
A lot of them were.